tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52009782012-02-16T19:45:45.189-05:00ironstone whirlygigSo much has changed since this started.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.comBlogger6351100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-81356993558195257622012-02-06T14:30:00.000-05:002012-02-06T14:30:07.853-05:00Today she said my name.
She hasn't said my name in a long time. I said my name and then she said my name. It could have been any name. It was my name.
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-67775052083704591142012-01-27T10:28:00.000-05:002012-01-27T10:28:48.949-05:00Friday morning, bound by the rain, waiting for the house to warm. The last of the coffee, a bit of last night's dinner. Too many nights out and it shows.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-31565068190537365132011-10-13T14:42:00.000-04:002011-10-13T14:42:10.875-04:00Wandering in a haze, trying to find a place to be. Every thing I touch has a history of its own. Each room filled, full of the past. Me stuck in the middle. In piles. My children will be home soon. I will find comfort in their needing me.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-32974528389315916832011-09-16T09:16:00.000-04:002011-09-16T09:16:13.066-04:00Cool this morning. Still feeling the chill of last night's rain. The wind whipping the flames of the fire downtown. I feel turned around. Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-2112570321563371562011-06-15T19:40:00.000-04:002011-06-15T19:40:33.244-04:00Tuesday is a hard day. Everywhere we go she runs away from me. Even when we go to walk the on the beach she runs away. Up the hill, fast enough that it is hard to catch her. When I do she says no and hits my hand away. Runs again when I get her to the car.
We drive into the village to pick Sam up. He is with a friend. My mother comes with me, out of the car. When she sees the kids andAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-56993974015322318082011-05-17T22:17:00.001-04:002011-05-17T22:19:30.683-04:00It is raining. She is upset when I get there. A tooth has broken off. When we ask if there is any pain she says no but every time her tongue finds the spot she cries out about her tooth. Like someone has stolen it. Her tooth.
I change the subject. Get her coffee. She finds two paintings and carries them around, yelling that they are hers. She made them. When she finds her tooth missing Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-27189216670969628762011-05-05T22:46:00.002-04:002011-05-05T22:46:38.501-04:00One thing I never expected anyone to say to me:
I will say a rosary. You go upstairs and get a diaper on you mom.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-2605437344828593052011-04-19T15:02:00.000-04:002011-04-19T15:02:52.313-04:00Hard arrival early crying running into the car and running away try to get food for her get food into her but she runs away again and my children are crying now crying as I hold her from running away. Back to her house tv on she sits and sits then cries again runs upstairs holds on holds on to the banister screaming screaming about her four dead babies and my children follow up Abby is crying Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-69959142791739357602011-03-17T22:53:00.000-04:002011-03-17T22:53:07.092-04:00This week she laughed and she cried and she pulled my hair. When it was raining she rubbed her legs. When she found strands of fake pearls she wanted me to turn them into money. When I fed her she ate happily.
She hums now. All day, humming. Yesterday I could hear the song. Down in the valley. After she hummed for an hour I sang the words for her. After I sang for an hour she sang some Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-10475542596819371612011-01-09T23:49:00.001-05:002011-01-09T23:49:23.836-05:00I am trying to decide why I am so heartbroken.The house is quiet, save for the dripping of the kitchen sink and the heat going on every so often. I am hungry and I may eat a cheese sandwich. I spent hours in the tub reading a book from my oldest friend. When it was done I washed my face and my arms and my chest.Now I am here. The house is cold the way sitting feels cold. The way being still Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-82647816465209500862011-01-01T13:38:00.002-05:002011-01-01T13:40:05.779-05:00Quiet day, first of the new year, kids and James out for a walk. Snow-melt dripping outside. Thankful for a chance at starting anew.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-32617570530040156242010-09-30T15:36:00.002-04:002010-09-30T15:43:12.327-04:00Today everything feels like a punishment. Sitting at my kitchen table, big tears rolling down her cheeks, big tears rolling onto my arms and dripping onto the floor. I get the softest napkin we have to dry her face. Hold her head to my bosom and dry her tears.He wants her to have a baby, she thinks. In the shed she has an antique hospital bed, an antique crib for babies. He wants her to haveAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-57538203120578468322010-09-05T12:47:00.002-04:002010-09-05T12:58:43.091-04:00Feeling human today. Cool air coming in the windows. Potato leek soup on the stove. Tomatoes cook and peeled and in the freezer, more in a salad with basil and garlic. Watermelon cut.The week in a blur: mother fall emergency room call sit wait shoulder pain out blood sit. Drive Kingston kids home hospital home sleep hospital drive kids home hospital work. Out home sleep hospital wait Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-10881328006538107012010-05-27T12:25:00.003-04:002010-05-27T12:46:44.223-04:00Found my mouse. Quiet noon, practicing fiddle, heard the commotion of not being alone. Went to the basement stairs, moving the things around the noise. I have never been a good woman but I shrieked like a girl when I saw him.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-29265731548836370952010-05-27T12:12:00.002-04:002010-05-27T12:19:33.962-04:00Too hot yesterday, too hot to move and my mother shows up in white capris and black socks pulled up to her knees. Lunch together. The old men at the next table talk about my grandfather and my little boy. Spilled water, Walnut Street, little boys all look alike. Drive home through the heat sit down sit still. Popsicles in the bath tub. Kids to the park. Bug bites skinned knee dirty feet.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-87981342697435004472010-05-25T10:01:00.003-04:002010-05-25T10:14:50.559-04:00Tuesday morning and the poppies are out. The air is hot and the world is noisier with the windows open. Yesterday's geraniums in the ground, last week's lilies still unplanted. Bird-song all around.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-6250586740064630262010-02-07T16:15:00.001-05:002010-02-07T16:15:31.370-05:00My hands are tired, man, tired. Everything I do I do with my hands. I do everything with my hands. Knit. Cook. Clean. Fiddle. I even read with my fucking hands. The rest of by body useless. That guy last night with his two broken hands and the scars up each. I want to build a house outside for the kids, with a counter and a roof and a bench to sit on. But there's no room. No fucking Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-12569499735404774982010-01-21T21:05:00.002-05:002010-01-21T21:11:51.230-05:00Time for bed and the kids are tired of the songs I am singing. Think hard reach back my funny valentine goin' down the road quiet nights may there always be sunshine. There's a lot to do, not getting it done. Stomach hurts Virgina Woolf in the tub then off to bed.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-39116609048275044612009-09-09T10:57:00.002-04:002009-09-09T10:59:54.225-04:00Cleaning the fridge for soup. Losing time here and there and here again. Cucumbers in jar with dill from Gerrit. Piles of things to do. Sam in his pajamas. We are moving along.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-62525639832400225162009-06-14T15:44:00.002-04:002009-06-14T15:56:59.485-04:00Spring is turning to somewhere and everywhere I turn there is new growth. The peas are coming out from behind the blossoms. The radishes need to be thinned.I am going to make this work.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-73453066688440730642009-04-01T21:43:00.002-04:002009-04-01T21:48:51.246-04:00Walking behind him on the way to the train. A list of Ians in my head. The one who lost himself out west. The one who The one who had sword fights in Glasgow and heroin here.Thinking about the way men smell when they work. This one smells like wood. That one smells like stale cigarette sweat. The way men smell when they move things.I am trying to notice things again.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-79030675392526559602009-01-06T08:33:00.002-05:002009-01-06T08:35:53.762-05:00Laundry to be folded int he new year, laundry and dishes and more of the same. My glasses are broken and they need to be fixed. I have thirty dollars in the pocket of a pair of dirty jeans and I swear I am going to find it.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-23884689373921401652008-10-28T01:09:00.002-04:002008-10-28T01:16:33.249-04:00Monday night home from the bar and I'm awake and I'm tired. Dance music tonight but the floor was too full too crowded and I didn't want to fight my way up didn't want to dance in back. Girls with plucked eyebrows and tattooed backs and I can't shake the feeling I'm not being the person I mean to be.Do you remember that time you came out to my bar? I just remembered it, just now. Tonight aAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-74089206552019101632008-10-14T15:14:00.002-04:002008-10-14T15:17:21.336-04:00Today she has lost her glasses. Athena from down the street is there with a flashlight looking for them. Athena who doesn't get it. Athena who keeps asking her to retrace her steps. We leave without her glasses. Athena stays to make herself a cup of coffee.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-24071861403003393102008-10-12T14:03:00.002-04:002008-10-12T14:08:35.043-04:00Quiet morning naked in bed tired-eyed knitting and listening and still. Cat on the covers lists of things to do lists and lists and things to do. Up into yesterday's jeans. Out into the old truck. Coffee in the sunshine morning. Yardsaling. Finding friends. Old glass buoys and clock cabinets.I have wasted the day. Wonderful wasted day.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-62520879121864245982008-07-21T09:52:00.001-04:002008-07-21T09:54:27.598-04:00We are starting over.Every day we wake up to a new light, a new chance, a new hope. Every day is dashed to the ground like the days before it.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-50626108089681009502008-04-26T17:40:00.001-04:002008-04-26T17:42:00.375-04:00It is spring. There are plants in the garden. I am cooking dinner. The kids are upstairs playing. The air is cool.I am trying to start a new story. But the story stays the same.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-44952753226216070012008-02-26T14:30:00.002-05:002008-02-26T14:40:21.067-05:00Afternoon and I am waiting for snow. I am full after eating the way you eat to get someone else to eat. As if it were charity. I am trying to decide what in my life I have control over. What is a choice. Instead of sitting here letting it all wash over me.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1297081109222078662008-01-29T13:36:00.000-05:002008-02-01T17:52:28.948-05:00What I read as a hangover this morning turns out to be something else. Getting sick. A cough, a headache. A tightness in my lungs. I can feel it like a train coming.Angry this morning at how sloppy people are. A sign on the door-- "Thanks from all of us." Sloppy sign. Sloppy with words. And I got angry, with my hangover head. Careless. Careless people. Careless and closed-off. Like Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-90595715920726405992008-01-24T15:15:00.000-05:002008-01-24T17:00:10.499-05:00At the cafe a woman sits with her back to me talking to the photographer. He tells her the story of each picture and as he is talking I can imagine what each one is. The bow cutting across the water. The gravestones. The buildings.My mother is late. I drink more coffee than I should waiting for her. Sam eats cream cheese off of a bagel. He reads a book. When she gets there she is all Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-71409074823382501032008-01-15T00:22:00.001-05:002008-01-15T00:22:36.873-05:00work work Originally uploaded by Mandy K How we spend our days.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-49863043982107709992008-01-13T16:59:00.000-05:002008-01-13T17:06:40.187-05:00He's gone away for a week. She is upset about it, about being alone without him. So we make sure she is not alone. We write our names on a calendar. We commit to time. Each day we will check on her, see her, make sure she is not alone.Today I take her to get coffee. In her purse is a large container of organic yogurt. She puts it on the table at the cafe. She pulls out a white shirt withAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-40351322356560033712008-01-02T12:47:00.001-05:002008-01-02T12:55:40.370-05:00Oatmeal for breakfast. Kids are coughing, just a little, into the tub and out to play. Pull on torn jeans and slip on heels to mail a letter.Cut tomatoes and fresh mozzarella, basil and olive oil into bread. Stale crackers onto the porch for the birds. Dance around the kitchen. Hang the upstairs rug to dry. Still finding beer bottles and glasses of bourbon and grappa and eggnog and wine. Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-5974636587119125342007-12-29T12:34:00.000-05:002007-12-29T12:48:57.115-05:00Two days after Christmas and the emergency room is full. She didn't know what she was doing, a week's worth of pills. Forty-two pills. A week's worth. In the next room a man has taken something and fallen off of a fishing boat. He is cold. He screams for two hours while they try to figure out his name. Down the hall a little girl is so sick they send her straight to Children's. An old Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-40955246101130688912007-12-25T23:05:00.000-05:002007-12-25T23:16:59.100-05:00Christmas night the day long and gone and a lot of good in it. Plastic toys rattle in the back of the car. Sam cries as we sit in traffic.I am trying to keep the tender parts of me tender. Pickup truck rolled over. Car smashed in. A peace in knowing she would not be alone. The rising of a voice brings me to tears. The way we light things up and call them joy.I ask if I am doing all I can.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-39333300626321238542007-12-14T01:07:00.000-05:002007-12-14T01:31:14.042-05:00Thursday night a mind of its own with snow and cold and no dinner and bourbon. There will be mistakes and I'm sorry for them but it's the way it is there are always mistakes. So it's Thursday and it's blues night and we end up out, out with Shilo's brother, and eventually I'll call him Ryan but not tonight and the music's okay but loud and the night is ending and in comes Mac and he sits with usAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-69592881692760080732007-12-12T14:59:00.000-05:002007-12-12T15:02:52.735-05:00It's feeling like a hot stove life these days. I don't know who to talk to. I don't know who to trade. I'm waiting for the Mitchell Report to blow it all up.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-41896479055153973202007-12-10T12:56:00.000-05:002007-12-10T13:09:14.163-05:00Today it is difficult not to drink. I mean not to drink early. This morning with ice over everything and no cream for coffee, like a sign or something that whiskey would do or bourbon or scotch or anything but coffee with no cream.There is a smell in the house, a bad smell, like lost sippy cup or worse. Keep doing laundry. Close the gate upstairs and mop the floor. Replace the bad smell Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-87985868410664127122007-12-04T16:58:00.000-05:002007-12-04T17:04:24.066-05:00My house is filled with balloons. The kitchen cabinet is falling off of the wall. My living room is filled with fabric from another of my mother's closets.Today she watched Sam while I put parts of her life in boxes and into my car. She sat him on the counter and fed him pieces of bagel. She gave him antiques dolls to play. And when her dog snapped at him she pulled Sam up quickly and cried Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-91260461907907714162007-12-02T22:36:00.000-05:002007-12-02T22:38:38.868-05:00Funny to watch Joe standing, his chin up just like Celeste's.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-84366687392712592542007-11-30T13:29:00.000-05:002007-11-30T13:34:26.042-05:00A little heart-broken today. The tone of my mother's voice. The girl at the bar Monday night. The way parts of the house feel cold even with the heat on.I have been spending my days making things for other people to buy. I have been working until my fingers are sore.It is another form of love: letting these things that are a part of me go.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-81173517870132885472007-11-20T15:26:00.000-05:002007-11-20T15:32:53.059-05:00Trying to get back to it, to get my wits about me. Today the snow and the rain fell around me and landed like crystals and tears.I can't remember when I stopped singing my lover to sleep.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1701841492007741122007-11-02T00:30:00.000-04:002007-11-02T00:34:58.297-04:00Driving home in the midnight light, stars bright above us and the moon a yellow shock behind Stage Fort. Every other car is a cab or a cop. Drive through the Fort, to find the moon again. My city at night. It is quieter after I drop Jane off, up over Beacon Street and onto Washington. The cabs are driving like there are no lines and the streets are empty. The night shines down on City Hall.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-69027331119966876672007-10-31T12:13:00.000-04:002007-10-31T12:45:59.822-04:00Water main broken down town. No laundry, no dishes. No baths for the kids. The water's brown. So dirty it leaves a ring in the bathroom sink. I can't make coffee. At the market my mother tries to talk to everyone. She mistakes their wanting her to move her carriage for a more pleasant eye contact. She doesn't understand. At the check-out the man looks at each thing. Says its name. Says Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-73975468535644011852007-10-27T22:36:00.000-04:002007-10-27T22:43:38.701-04:00Hard this week, the days of it all together with the days that have come before them. Those two houses. They make me remember. Standing in line for hours. Looking at bodies and trinkets. The delirious feeling after hours in one room. Saying I'm sorry and hearing I'm sorry and being sorry. The way faces all look the same. The way make-up cakes at the edge of a bullet hole.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-14879135703000121352007-10-25T12:30:00.000-04:002007-10-25T12:46:14.357-04:00Today everybody is tired. Our feet are sore from standing in lines. Our babies are grumpy from lack of sleep. We are the lucky ones.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-55295903091705642832007-10-23T02:11:00.000-04:002007-10-23T02:19:30.497-04:00Outside on the smoking deck blues inside and they're joking show it they say and he lifts his shirt under his arm the tatoo the numbers sniper's numbers and I can't help but think of what they mean what sniper means what marines means and I say something about peace and go inside and I am standing there standing my eyes are tearing and an older man talks to me tries to cheer me up tells me not Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-12708999519014103122007-10-19T10:07:00.000-04:002007-10-19T12:33:29.088-04:00Stepping outside this morning it feels like spring. The birds singing in the bushes, a lightness in the air, a new crop of peas coming up in the pot by the stairs.We are dancing in the kitchen, a baby on each hip, singing in full voice. We are eating root vegetables and ripe pears.I am remembering how important it is to hear your name spoken out loud.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-68208257931730348152007-10-17T14:10:00.000-04:002007-10-17T14:16:55.873-04:00The day is half-way done and I am starting to slow. We are drinking tea to stay warm. We are remembering how to layer our clothing.Around every corner there's another thing to do. Trying to keep up with it, trying to be productive. I have a picture in my mind and I doubt I'll get to it.I am holding my head high. Trying to find value in matching socks. I'll have to turn the heat on soon.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-78136480613656630772007-10-16T13:52:00.000-04:002007-10-16T13:55:20.808-04:00Waking up every morning to the price of oil rising. The sunflowers outside have all turned brown. The birds are making the most of them. Everything is one step away from desperation.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-11292946803915633832007-10-15T14:50:00.000-04:002007-10-15T17:49:34.844-04:00The house is cold again, today like yesterday and the day before. I won't turn the heat on.An hour at the market and at the end of it the fear of not being able to pay. Electrical glitch last week, expected money absent all weekend. I packed the cold things together in case my card didn't work. Crossed fingers. It did.Leeks from Friday at Appleton Farm and potatoes from last week's sale on the Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-13462157142526088722007-10-12T18:31:00.000-04:002007-10-12T19:08:08.862-04:00On the way to the doctor she says she is going to throw up. She is wringing her hands. She says she is going to be bad.She has new buttons on her jacket. Buttons all over the front. Where the top button should be is a string of five or six buttons that jingles when she walks. There are buttons on the side with button holes. Silver and gold, silver and gold. One with a pearl center. She Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-63356809162982139092007-10-09T16:10:00.000-04:002007-10-09T16:23:23.445-04:00Every time I have to tell someone it becomes new again. When I say it I can see the parts of her brain going away. The dark spots on the scan. When they start to cry I cry too. Tomorrow when the Mormons come back to talk to me about heaven I will ask them. Is there a place in heaven for the parts of a person that go away?Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-19091370879358913842007-10-03T15:32:00.000-04:002007-10-03T16:09:19.940-04:00When the Mormons come I don't know what to do with them. So I teach them how to knit. They sit with the kids while I look for yarn. They pick shiny metal needles from my extras. They chose colors. I cast on for them. They are nervous. They fumble with the wool and it slides all over the place.The quiet one gets it right away. Her hands know what to do. The one who talks about blessings Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-90139345140985865852007-10-02T16:54:00.000-04:002007-10-02T17:10:47.550-04:00I called this morning to tell her I would be late. Just after noon. When I got there she was upset. She didn't know where I was. It continued like that today. Missed cues, little complications. Typical for a Tuesday.There are things I want from a Monday. Sometimes they come, sometimes not. I have no right to them but I want them just the same. A little music to dance to, some Monday Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-27224225200870062692007-09-27T22:56:00.000-04:002007-09-27T22:59:36.753-04:00Reading translations in the tub after everyone else is asleep. I'm not sure where I fit into it all, the elbows and the wool. But the peace of it.I have been ignoring my mother lately. That is not true. What I should say is that sometimes when I wake at night I let myself think of something else and I am happy.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-64506960894944450342007-09-27T16:57:00.000-04:002007-09-27T16:59:22.305-04:00The thing about letting everything go to seed is that the birds love it. They hop about the yard, past the mustard and the thistle. The whole things is a place to hide.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-73585750465551181912007-09-20T15:07:00.000-04:002007-09-20T15:29:54.670-04:00I can't stop thinking of those children watching their mother die. Waiting as her body slowly gives up. Remembering my father as his body stopped working. Watching the pieces go.Sitting at N.'s counter, her feeding me cookies and pouring me tea. Talking about our lives, our families. Her children doing well, playing music, applying for school. Mine still in my belly.Potatoes were on sale Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-76545535556949643792007-09-19T21:17:00.000-04:002007-09-19T21:30:23.004-04:00It had beena good day. The kind of day that makes you wonder why sometimes it is so hard. The kind of day that makes you think you are good. And then it happened. Nothing major, a run-in with the recycling man, about what numbers mean, number two and number six.I have been wrong. For months I have been putting plastic bags and styrofoam in my bin. I believed the numbers. I should have Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-2335836590547624172007-09-11T21:57:00.000-04:002007-09-11T22:10:11.831-04:00It's funny, tonight, how much I want to talk to someone. I wish I could talk on the phone. I wish I had something to say. I meant to tell you about my long day last week. The phone call inthe morning asking me to call if my mother died. Crying in the tunnel over everything lost. Bringing the kids to Boston Medical to see Other Grammie with her broken neck. Parking on the top floor just Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-35706739563653571952007-09-05T10:18:00.000-04:002007-09-05T10:25:25.473-04:00I am still amazed that it worked. I had sorrows. And I drank. And they went away.For the first time inmy life I drank my sorrows away.I am still shocked at the effect. Falling asleep without thinking at all. Sleeping deeply without a care.It was a delicious few hours. But the next day was no better.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1110893922770654402007-09-04T01:13:00.000-04:002007-09-04T01:14:45.818-04:00Driven home tonight in a '67 Dodge Dart convertible. The one Joe slowed so suddenly to look at. With Iggy Pop and the Stooges playing.It was alright.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-4373426511839668292007-08-31T07:36:00.000-04:002007-08-31T07:43:31.439-04:00I am looking for self-confidence this morning. I can't say quite what it is, quite why it is. A pile of fabric scraps on the kitchen floor. Chicken that should be cooked tonight. But there is something wavering about the day, a little breeze of uncertainty.Maybe it is because I can't really read you. Or that the weed whacker is broken. Or that yesterday's mail sits unopened. I feel Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-8125689146693457222007-08-25T13:53:00.000-04:002007-08-25T14:17:49.618-04:00She was well on Sunday, a ride for coffee and to look at the water.On Monday a morning visit to give her her pills. She had made coffee herself. After Sam's appointment we went again, this time a ride to Newburyport. Lunch at the diner. A little walk around. A ride to Plum Island.Tuesday morning, her birthday, a quick get-ready then coffee with her father. A card with a picture of her as a girl Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-31021084651175761842007-08-16T18:39:00.000-04:002007-08-16T19:56:19.047-04:00Tonight I am despondent, quiet in the face of it. Days go by and I can ignore the way thngs are, the way they will be.I thank every one of you who distracts me. There is a rash on her side, a sore on her face. One is caused by bugs crawling out of her skin. The other is from blood dripping out of her ear. I recommend a bandage and a cotton dress. More time spent looking for heart-shaped Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-68330782920919621322007-08-15T20:43:00.000-04:002007-08-15T20:55:59.877-04:00It's horrible, the waya face looks with all of that makeup. The tokens we put in coffins. What do you say to a woman standing alone? As alone as she'll ever be?I wanted to say a lot here, about being back in that place. About Galen and my father and the look of death.But I can't do it. All I can say is I'm sorry.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-41006505411291162892007-08-14T17:37:00.000-04:002007-08-14T17:49:23.749-04:00Hard to get up in the morning. Head groggy, noggy groggy, groggy noggin. Morning shower, telephone call, unexpected progress and unexpected bliss.My mother was resting in the sunlight when I went in to get her. Her dogs were at her feet.We were wasting time, sunlight on us, driving around and stopping where we could. At the chinese restaurant we waited outside for the food to be done, singing Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-74247231905772769432007-08-13T18:59:00.000-04:002007-08-13T19:09:46.008-04:00Funny to see the picture of it in Abigail's little book of pictures. Me dancing with my father, his oxygen against my wedding gown. In the background is Herb Pomeroy. Herb blowing his horn.It was just over ten years ago. Even though they said rain the sun was shining. After an argument with a superstitious minister about Wagner Herb had an idea. We agreed. A little bit later we walked up Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-55062415151494384332007-08-10T16:15:00.000-04:002007-08-10T17:01:42.028-04:00I am trying hard not to be in a bad mood right now. I came home from a few days away to find my computer broken. It won't start. Won't turn on. I think it is a problem of power but who the hell knows. Oddly enough there is an extra computer here, slower and messier, lacking all content the broken one has. It makes me sad, this losing things. Picking raspberries in Lancaster I was thinking Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-3760370345367547562007-08-05T21:46:00.000-04:002007-08-05T22:05:59.812-04:00Tonight I am killing flies. They have taken over the kitchen. Little fruit flies landing on the sink and the cabinets and the mirror my grandfather's uncle made. I have cleaned everything: the sink, the dish drain, the pitcher from on top of my grandmother's piano. I have set glasses of wine all over the kitchen. Quarter-full of old white wine, a drop of dish soap in each. Poisoned wine forAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-54326841820982437452007-08-01T17:57:00.000-04:002007-08-02T16:44:17.539-04:00;/. There are so many people to think of in a day. Looking through her things, trying to get them in some order. Piecing together her story.In a plastic bag her silver beads are held together by white acrylic paint, the tube left open. And the earrings I bought her in Cobh. A tin painted with enamels, black with green dots and a white dove. An olive branch. Old bank statements and lots of socks, Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-81982926588796898982007-07-31T17:31:00.000-04:002007-07-31T20:25:33.801-04:00These days I am baking scones for neighbors. Making whales of old fabric. Saving bottle caps and pull tabs.Sunday morning the sun rose first like a pink ghost then orange with a red halo and finally bright and bold and yellow. I am making stories out of hellos and goodbyes and writing middles where nothing was before.I am making myself giddy with thin air.Today I locked my keys in the car and Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-80859995056755366372007-07-17T17:36:00.000-04:002007-07-17T17:43:42.636-04:00Tuesday morning again. It always seems to come. The babies are coughing, doctor in the afternoon. Find a hammer. Do all the chores that need a hammer. Fix the curtain rod. Pound a loose nail.If I had twenty minutes I would pull the dried peas out of the garden. I would water the plants. Pick flowers.Find a pen. Do all the chores that need a pen. Thank you notes. Bills. Make a list of Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-69654982115601896712007-07-08T20:34:00.000-04:002007-07-08T21:03:50.374-04:00Winding yarn from a cone bought unseen, a mistake from years ago. Silk with some wool for good measure. A color called grass, it feels rough like jeans dried on the line. Tough, ropelike, on my hands. Trying to wind the perfect ball.Apple-sized ball and the first knot appears. Break the yarn, start again. Almond-sized for the next knot. Once more, clean start, winding the yarn around my fingers Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-69419901888080981462007-07-04T12:21:00.000-04:002007-07-04T12:42:07.480-04:00Today I have to do things my way. I have to have coffee in the morning. Dishes mostly done.Listen to the same song. Over and over. Empty the baskets she filled and sort them out. Clean laundry in one. Mail on the desk. Plastic cup in the sink.Monday set me back weeks. Brakes gone. Everything from the car thrown into my sewing room. Feet tired from all the walking. A month of paper Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-77282427124689236882007-07-03T01:27:00.000-04:002007-07-03T01:30:05.688-04:00I am trying to make up with poetry.Just writing this now seems full of artifice.If I could have been alone tonight I would have stayed home, picked peas from the garden and sauteed them with ginger.There is no hope for it.I can only write love poems.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-72256754509315049072007-07-02T13:01:00.000-04:002007-07-03T01:50:59.139-04:00Going to see her the car is faltering, making a grinding noise. Around curves. When braking. The front wheel on my side.Abby in yesterday's clothes, Sam dressed and smiling. She is crying. Take her in.Eat together, breaking bread. The waitress pours coffee right over the baby. He ignores her. Too much food, too much to think about.The car makes it home. Out with the car seats. Out with theAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-21477556305481639582007-06-22T14:41:00.001-04:002007-06-22T14:48:43.626-04:00There is so little to do when the sky keeps falling. Blue for hours, hang the laundry out. Rain like a curtain, hide away.There is a game people play when they don't know what to do with themselves. A bit of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. Or Operation. Put inthe pieces, quickly, where you think you have plastic holes. Don't touch the sides. Don't connect. Hope you don't hit the wall. As ifAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-76828565604772810582007-06-21T14:10:00.000-04:002007-07-03T01:50:05.394-04:00These days the sun comes up with birds a-twitter and babies crying for the breast. The coffee is hot and the cream is sweet. These days the greens are from the garden. These days the morning dew is just enough to keep the garden happy.We have jobs to help us buy drinks. We have dryers to pile papers and fabric on. We have babies to sing them to sleep.Today I may bake a cake with almonds and Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-75118732271153222972007-06-17T21:57:00.000-04:002007-06-17T22:12:31.554-04:00Tired from the heat of almost-summer. Windows still shut and fans still away. Afternoon rain in car windows. Baby crying upstairs.Clean the spiders off of the new bookcase. Clean up puzzles. Move a speaker. Listen to that song. When I go deaf. When I go deaf.Wash the dishes. Sneak dolls and Telletubbies into the wash. Slip mother's MRI behind the new bookcase. Think of that song. Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-90824749200399609912007-06-05T23:27:00.000-04:002007-06-05T23:37:28.637-04:00Biographers will accuse me of trying to reconstruct the people I have lost. It's all a patchwork.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-31422616472518840022007-05-15T15:46:00.000-04:002007-05-15T16:03:04.994-04:00A cool morning, rain falling on yesterday's laundry. Last night the air was full of blossoms. It made a kind of mischief in me, like May Day girls dancing in white. It felt like cherry blossoms and cherry blossoms feel like you.I tried to call you. Dropping Gerrit off as the late-morning sun broke through the rain. Looking back through his jungle, the taste of sorrel in my mouth. The air smelledAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-35006128257743557872007-05-01T01:43:00.000-04:002007-05-01T01:45:00.345-04:00It is late on Monday night and I am up alone. I've got that feeling that I can see evrything clearer now. Not intellectually but physically: cigarette butts on the sidewalk, streetlights up above me. I've been thinking of you all week.It's getting close now. You know how all the rocks have names and all the marshes have mazes. You have always jumped in first while I shivered afraid on the Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-26968587469017576042007-04-24T01:50:00.000-04:002007-04-24T02:03:37.168-04:00The shape of it all coming to me, coming back to me. Pilings rising from the water like the Giant's Causeway. The same thing happens over and over again. The weather is changing again. Warm air comes in the windows and heats the rooms upstairs. The girls walk down the streets in as little as they can manage. Bass pours out of the cars. The drunks walk home at night. The city breathes with Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-51663653688129635302007-04-03T01:01:00.000-04:002007-04-03T01:16:26.813-04:00Just got home and I'm trying not to cry. It's not that there's anything to cry about but sometimes the part of me that is you comes through and I just don't know what to do about it. I think the old man across the street died today. Old women looking worried, coming and going with their dyed hair. Coming and going all week. And now they've stopped.The woman in the next house down is on bed Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-26845912823506511032007-03-27T01:10:00.000-04:002007-03-27T01:24:46.175-04:00When she got her Massachusetts liscense she took it out to show us. She took out his liscense too. She did it. She copied his smile. She got it right. Her husband, two months gone. She got his smile. Her husband. Hanged.In the paper there is a letter from Wayne Lo. A letter addressed to the people of a well-to-do place. A letter telling them to remember. That they should have learned. That they Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-8555415935320972652007-03-06T01:14:00.000-05:002007-03-06T01:17:07.716-05:00Quiet omens in the night. A gate left open. The bone we found in the graveyard. A flag flapping against wrought iron.Oh, Molly!While they are talking I am thinking of you.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-3369172745448089582007-02-27T11:41:00.000-05:002007-02-27T11:57:25.188-05:00It is Tuesday morning. Tuesday morning always comes. Today when it comes I admit defeat. This morning came with cold and sun. The house smelling like winter needs to end. Everyhere I look there are more things. More decisions. Apples in a bag left in the car for too long. Frozen and pock-marked. Paper on the floor from hours spent drawing and painting. Mustard-wine sauce in a pan on theAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1172190858078110272007-02-22T19:32:00.000-05:002007-02-22T19:50:08.446-05:00Recession He's taken her off of one of her medications. I come home to this. He has told one doctor. Not the one that matters.There is always laundry when you get home. And things to unpack. The mail keeps coming and trash day comes too. There is ice in the driveway and the sky is gray.She thinks she has bugs in her fingers and she is picking them out. She is angry. Angry. He's taken her off Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1170046171809429152007-01-28T23:27:00.000-05:002007-01-28T23:49:31.826-05:00Trying to figure what it means to be remembered, why it matters. A cold morning. I remember that. A boarding pass to Shannon. A present never mailed.Cleaning my desk, finding things I may have forgotten. A string of beads. An old violin. Letters written and not mailed. Letters recieved and not returned.Trying to think of why it matters to be remembered. Graveyards full, full of people. Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1169349487081741172007-01-20T22:00:00.000-05:002007-01-20T22:18:07.100-05:00Knitting a lace shawl for a friend, for her wedding. Hours and hours of sleepless nights, minutes caught between daily routines. Ten minutes here when I should be holding Abby. Ten minutes there when I should be holding Sam. At the market tonight Abby and I put cans in the machine. Abby standing in pig slippers in the carriage dropping them in one by one, the machine gobbling them like a Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1167513590603466342006-12-30T15:52:00.000-05:002006-12-30T16:28:03.333-05:00It is depressing to shop at that market. A girl from high school talking about Nascar. A fat woman crouched in the aisle looking at stuffing bread. Chatter at the lottery counter. I didn't tell you about the dream I had a few weeks back. Pinochet's brain became part of my head, at the back, and a mob was leading me around the city looking for the right place to execute Pinochet. When they Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1163998382363615642006-11-19T23:06:00.000-05:002006-11-19T23:53:02.396-05:00She is lying on the table in a fetal position facing the wall. She looks younger this way, her skin smooth and her fancy underwear with a bow on the back. I stand at her head with my hand on the side of her face. He feels her back, finds her spine. An inch out of place and nobody ever notices. Presses firmly here, and there, looking for the right place. He paints her back with an antisepticAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1158808088317482672006-09-20T22:46:00.000-04:002006-09-20T23:10:17.693-04:00Quiet night, reading in bed when it comes in through the window like an anthem - the theme song for M*A*S*H. Almost every day for five years after Marnie got sick it came up the stairwell to our place. Almost every night growing up it came through the wall from my mother's room. For at least half of my life, one of the steadiest things I knew. This morning cleaning like the Queen is coming.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1158528826700011802006-09-17T17:25:00.000-04:002006-09-17T17:33:46.786-04:00To think about it wakes me up at night. When Judy got sick they flew her east. They gave her the bedroom we had slept in and the tv room on the second floor. They scoffed at her diet of whole grains and raw vegetables. When she got sicker they wheeled her out into the sun on a new wrought-iron chaise lounge. She sat in the sun and tanned. She sat in the sun and grew new hair as her baby Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1158440795661183812006-09-16T16:37:00.000-04:002006-09-16T21:03:35.040-04:00Coming home from the orchard, a car burnt out just south of exit 15. Vermont plates, fire engine, ambulance, police cars. Trees turning red around us. Coming up on October, it'll be here soon, then November and December. Months get cold and colder.On the second floor in the tv room we sat and ate oranges before bed. Marnie would peel them and split them between us. Elizabeth in her red and Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1156988310634920532006-08-30T21:33:00.000-04:002006-08-30T21:38:33.743-04:00Sam firstday Originally uploaded by Mandy K. This is Sam on his first day. Sam is now three weeks old. But here he is on the day of his birth: Samuel James Finnegan Cook.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1156004537553950992006-08-19T12:21:00.000-04:002006-08-19T12:22:17.570-04:00Thank goodness there's a cop at Tony's Porn and Lotto Mart. Me with my pram and the guy in the wheelchair playing Keno, barely enough room for one of us never mind two vehicles. Talking with the guy who collects scrap metal about those immigrants. They're workaholics. Take $10 an hour even if the going rate is $23. And the Americans are so lazy-- they win a few bucks on a scratch ticket, go Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1151896731237212312006-07-02T23:11:00.000-04:002006-07-02T23:18:51.256-04:00Heat everywhere. Cars dive by with radios blaring. Kids light fireworks in the park. It is summer no matter how I try to deny it.These are things I have meant to say:The perfect tree on my street blossomed and then lost all of its blossoms. The little girl in the back yard has been stealing my peas. I saw the guy who looks like Jim at the market again. Small strokes. The drive to Lynn was Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5200978.post-1149534994268285892006-06-05T15:03:00.000-04:002006-06-05T15:16:34.280-04:00Feeling like an orphan. Tired, worn out, coffee in bed, slow waking. Trying hard not to avoid things. People. Phone calls. Mother quiet today, not hearing and not talking. The same questions again and again. I'm tired and I don't know what to do. We drive, around and around. She isn't hungry. She's starving. Just a soda. Coffee. Salad would be good. I default and spend more than I Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053893932522025848noreply@blogger.com0