I became mean the first time I mocked. I became talented when I realized I had some skill at it. I became funny when I saw that you enjoyed it.

Is this a lack of trust or just not caring? Do you mean you like my shoes or do you mean you are uncertain about the decisions you made but you know they are better than the ones I made? I am proud of myself because I can blame this on my mother. What can you blame on your mother?

I am really not interested. No, I mean I am really not interested. I mean I am the most uninterested of us all. I think it's quaint.

Would you like to come over to see what I do when I'm bored? I am never bored. Wait, I am never boring. I am often bored.

Monday morning in bed reading trying to wait for baby's morning smiles. Lists are forming (lists are always forming) things to do:
Get up! Obligations. What comes first? Try to manage priorities. Taxes, of course. Which means to the library. To the library-- a walk! A walk. Of course.

To the library. I need to find my library card first.

To do:
Find library card.
Walk to library.
Look for a book on retaining walls and building raised beds. For my garden. My yard. Yes, my yard. There is one, there, even if it is small and touching other properties. Some of us need to live right up close. Find a book on living up close and still growing things.

To do: Grows things.

Two concord grape vines in a box in the cellar. The back yard (the neighbor's front) gets sun and the property line allows for an inch or two of it. Vines could grow up to the deck. They'll need a little protection from the kids and the dog.

To do: Buy some fence.

Buy some fence, little fence. Maybe that silly scalloped wire stuff. A little something to put around the base. And maybe some soil, and maybe some railroad ties. And bricks. Bricks for a walkway and maybe a stair. I need a book on laying brick walks. And sand for under the bricks.

Mrs. Ramsey is knitting. One project finished last night, need to send it off. Sew a tag inside. Directions for another found, it nearly finished. And the back of the baby sweater from my second pregnancy. Can't bear to finish it for another child, can't take it out. I could turn it into pillow. I should finish living projects first.
To do:
Sew tag.
Knit.
Go to the post office.

Reading still, list getting longer. Abigail whimpers. Put the book down and give her my breast. Lily and her oils. I wonder what my mother's work would look like in oil. If I could paint in oil. Can I get oil paints on my walk? In my dream a few weeks back the art store only openned two days a week and sold political scarves. I am sure they have oil paints as well. Maybe Jane would paint with me. On the deck. Maybe I should paint the deck. No, it will do as it is. But the front porch needs painting.

To do:
Buy oil paints.
Call Jane.
Strip porch.
Paint.

All these lists and still in bed. Abby's asleep. I should get something done. Want to stay with her, stay in bed to get the first morning smiles. I can sneak away, put away the last of the maternity clothes, start a load of laundry, do last night's dishes.

To do:
Get up.
Put clothes away.
Do dishes.
Start laundry.

Up now, monitor on, Abby upstairs and she starts to coo. To tht-tht-tht and daa-daa-daa.

To do:
Miss morning smiles.

I don't have a dog and I don't smoke but my yard is filled with cigarette butss and dog shit. Snow melted, leaving the yard covered in sand and shit and somebody's broken trash can. Wednesday at least, trash day, fill the broken barrel and set it out.

I've been finding new uses for baby food jars. Good for trapping pale spiders. Good as shot glasses. Good for keeping things one shouldn't keep. Half the jars get cleaned, thrown in the drawer near the cat food. Half the jars end up in the recycling. One jar is open on the table on the deck, spider web down the center.

Being an expert starter I am trying to become a better finisher. My daily lists have turned to catalogs of projects I have started already. Finish blue sweater. Put laundry away. Finish paying bills. Clean up from previous projects. Yarn toys sand dishes clothing papers books music.

I have letters to write.

At the desk, preregistered, wrong day wrong date wait they'll take you they have you for today down there at down the hall at the desk Hello. Sit down get up dressing room take your purse. Shoes and socks and underwear on everything else off this one ties in the ack and this one goes over it. Sign here not pregnant ask about nursing cover ovaries lie on the table quick picture step outside wait here.

New room stand against the table on its end vertical drink this thick chaulky salty crystals on top like drinking sharp pop rocks tastes like the smell of plastic dolls one big gulp adjust lead cover breathe deep now stop breathing deep breath in table tilts back stop breathing turn to the right breathe stop breathing. On the table now horizontal turn left breathe drink this thinner strawberry flavor still chaulky still thick lying on my side stop breathing take another sip breathe again now stop.

Sit up body heavy chaulky mouth chaulky lips swing legs over find step stool. Dressing room clothes on tights and skirt and shirt and coat. Out to car and go.

There’s always too much of something and tonight I’m afraid it’s me. Winter won’t end and I don’t know what I’d do if it did. Spring is rebirth full of new and I can’t let go of the old. Old and dead ideas. Old and dead hellos. Old and dead goodbyes.

The tide is turning. The tide is always turning. Trust me, boys. What’s low now will be igh again.

Dreamt last night of an over-educated friend breaking off an engagement. Standing on the rocks overlooking the harbor, shirt off, but with cuffs and collar remaining. A stronger figure than I had guessed and, in the sun off the water, shining. An embrace somehow maternal, then confessional, then baptismal.

Move to a house along the beach, water rising, waves crashing. Waves pouring themselves over the rail of the porch and in the waves seals swimming in and out, bumping against me as I cling to the rail.

Water rushing out, seals gone, me going out with them and not by choice. Strong arms (whose arms?) hold me back and all this time the sun has been shining.

Flicking baseball cards at the wall, my room best in the corner near the door. Sort cards by brand by team by position. Different cards for different purposes but for flicking only one good luck: Mookie Wilson.

Flicking baseball cards at the wall, my room best in the corner near the door. Sort cards by brand by team by position. Different cards for different purposes but for flicking only one good luck: Mookie Wilson.

Sitting at a show outside snow is getting dirty and dirtier until it is only dirt.

Some things look like butterflies and somethings look like butterflies with no middles.

Sad to think that nobody knows your mind and sad to know that nobody's trying but it doesn't mean you are unloved just that you are alone.

Funny how each of us has a body.

Funny how somebody can step out of your life for some time and expect there to be a place holder.

Like we don't all work in waves.

Talking today about family and lovers. A lesson in how to fall in love. A lesson in how to be in love.

I had a dream the other night, I'll tell you about it later. Ran into a friend. Not in the dream. Thought of you, all of you.

I can't even remember who my friends are anymore.

Give the baby three oranges and watch her roll them around. Take a walk in the cold. Remember that you have a body. Remember what that means.

Sometimes these things come back to me: a smile, a hand, the way the phone rings. I am trying to make these things into rag dolls. Not like poets do but with fabric and yarn. Most of it scraps.

I wish you would call or write. I have more to say about lovers and more to say about family.

One year ago cold air, phone call, quick ride crying to the city to MGH. Time for a few words him listening me talking baby's good, going to be okay, love you, love you. Tried to get up can't get up can't talk smiles and tear in his eye. Morphine drip drip swab his mouth heep him comfortable hold his hand. To the chapel comfort sister to the gift shop busy the boys to the cafeteria salad bar and the hallway coffe shop. Gift shop stationary green with white edges and pad with dots and pen. Write letters never sent. Gift store again sample sale baby clothes for the wee one to be. Brother gives blood borrow shirt sleep in scrubs solitaire knit and read. Ice from the nurses station drinks from vending machines backpack brought in with things we need. Pizza boxes on the window sill brother on the floor father not opening his eyes second night no response heart slowing third day waiting watching holding hand ball to squeeze swab his mouth keep him comfy talk and talk new nurses familiar from before transplant doctors come to say goodbye pay respects. Take the elevator to the top floors Blake 10 nice waiting room look over the charles he was here once come up at night stars and dark and feel alone alone alone but sister's there and we are alone. Tired worn out getting toward peaceful time for bed Sam and I in one himin the other stepmother next to him go to sleep we're all going to sleep together family like and we sleep two three hours nurses come in Jane wakes us he's gone. Wake up relieved hug eachother kiss his forehead hold his hand hand on head again goodbye and put my head on the bed and cry. Say thank you, thank you gather our stuff pack it up clean up pizza boxes call people say goodbye elevator down hospital empty walk outside into the cold first time in days cold air cold drive home route 1 drive east into the sunrise.

Miss you, Da, love you.

James is sniffling, time for soup. Into the truck, to the market, to play our favorite game. Best Shopper. Come home with everything we need while saving the most money. Today I win with 34 percent.

Onions, garlic, carrots., celery in the pot. Chicken and water. Boil. And boil. And boil. Remove chicken, strain. Add new onions and garlic cut smaller than needed. Add carrots and celery. Add broth. Pick chicken.

When picking a chicken be sure to have a bowl of cold water handy for when you burn your fingers. My first chicken picked in this house, counters are different so I set myself up new. Put the old vegetables in a second pot and add whatever parts of the chicken are not going in the soup. Add water and boil for a second batch of broth to freeze.

Careful with the chicken. Growing up a knuckle or two found their way into my soup. Unpleasant to find. Some people like it, like they like tendon or tripe. My grandmother would gnaw at the ends of chicken wings.

Add chipotle peppers, roasted corn. Simmer. Make a grilled cheese with red onion, Dijon mustard and tomato. Test soup. Try not to turn the television on. Sunday night, baby nursing and I’m not tired enough to go to sleep. I will regret this in the morning.

Nine o’clock knock on the door, Abigail and me still in bed. Next-door neighbor, faux-fur collar, looking to babysit. Extra money. Christmas season. House up north, rising taxes. Business not going so well. Sitting , listening. Abigail upstairs.

First take out the rocks and the jackets then take the car to Linsky’s. No coffee left in the house so stop at Uncle Moe’s. Jack says: Hello Beautiful. Jack says: I know you love coffee. Grilled cheese, turkey soup, coffee. Old woman comes in. Plumber comes in and tells her she has a flat tire. Guys at the counter banter, argue about who can and who will help her out. Banter ends with no resolution, until I offer to change her tire. Someone gets up to do it right away.

Home now to balance the checkbook. See how much for when the mechanic calls. Sounds like the head gasket. How much is too much? How long is too long? She’s a good car, I’d hate to see her go.

It's great to see you. I have a baby, yes, a girl. She's home now. With her dad. I'm not working, no, not really. We live in Gloucester. Just bought a house. What are you up to?

Hi! Yeah, this is great. I'm not sure if you saw me with my husband. I eat breakfast with a lot of men. But we've been married for seven years. No, just one, she's lovely. I like it a lot. Good to see you too.

So, you live in Gloucester still? Me too. I never see you. I have a baby. We walk downtown. What do you do with your time? Financial advisor? I never would have guessed. I play violin. At a third-grade level. Maybe fourth. What music have you been listening to?

Read any good books lately? I read that when I was pregnant. Yeah, I used to say when people asked if I wanted a boy or a girl that I wanted a boy OR a girl. She's a girl. Abigail. Tell your wife I'm sorry she didn't come. And I'm sorry. I hope she's doing well.

I remember catching minnows with you when we were in sixth grade. No, we only did it once, but the way they moved in the sun, shiny and silver... Your Abby is 4? She must be lovely. A tomboy? I guess mine will be too, with all of those cousins. We should get together sometime.

So, you knit? Me too. Do you remember when you pushed me out of our group of friends in sixth grade? It was for the better, I think, especially after seeing you all here. You look good, pretty hip, but what the hell does that get you in Gloucester? Anyway, I like your hair. I don't think I'll bring my film in anymore. I wonder what else your friends know about me now.

Have you got any extra drink tickets? It's good to see everyone. I'm not good at burning bridges but I'm great at letting them crumble under their own weight. I had a crush on you in seventh grade but you were cuter then. And less of a flake. Your engaged? And living in Kingston? I don't know why you would live there. But living here doesn't seem to matter much, nobody leaves their houses anyway. I'm a rare book dealer. Yeah, lots of money to be made there.

Funny, yeah. No, I get out a lot, even with the baby. I bring her to a bar on weekends to wacth soccer. A Scottish team. You don't play anymore? That's too bad. I can see your wife is furious with me for talking to you. That's okay. I'm just trying to talk to everybody I recognize. The airforce? New Jersey? Wow.

This is your boyfriend in the Red Sox shirt? Nice to meet you. We new eachother a long time ago. Used to swim to Ten Pound Island and flirt with tuna fishermen on the docks. You're living a few houses down from my sister. Are you still hanging out with the guy I had a restraining order on? I really never understood taking his side. I didn't ask anyone to take sides. Just not to tell him where I was going to be. That's okay. Everything passes.

Bathtub caulked, ceiling painted. Everything done means something left undone.

Slices of quince for breakfast. No runcible spoon- does that affect flavor? I always assume that fruit we Americans tend not to eat is tart and not suitable for smoothies. I like tart. The quince, however, is not tart. Its texture is a little grainy, like pears from the tree in the back yard. Its flavor is light, like watered-down old wine. A little musty. I think I will cook the rest to see if it improves.

I was just saying last night that I hadn't seen Woody HArrelson for along time and there he is today on Ellen. Doing Elvis.

Abigail has fallen asleep. Today isn't going so well. I had an idea of what I should do today but it depended on other people and they didn't know. I tried to tell them. Now I am contemplating the list of things I could do today. Paint the bathroom ceiling. Put weather stripping on the cellar door. Recaulk the bathtub.

None of these things sound good to me today.

When ABigail wakes up maybe I will drag her out. The car doesn't like starting these days but we are picking up some kids at Waring this afternoon. Maybe a little trip to Cabot Street. I'm sure we'll figure something out.

The thing about it is that you never know when someone is thinking about you. My ficus tree is dropping its leaves, I haven't found a place it likes in this house yet. Ficus generation.

I don't know what my options are but for this: I must not add to the confusion. Two new valves for radiators. I will master this system by spring. I need a mirror and clear plastic. Power tools and foam.

Each move leaves a six. This is Main Street, this is Rogers, that is Porter. Two bars closed. One owned by the cook from the White Lion, the other by a new friend. One building torn down at the station. Another one, as well, but earlier and already replaced. It's easy to mess things up these days. Just one slip and it's done. Note: Do not remove weight-bearing walls on the first floor. How many restaurants does any one person need? Or any three?

I used to read things and hope that they were written for me. I know better now.

Oil burner's broke again, we all have to break sometime. Ice cream is cheaper than Zoloft and doing the dishes tonight makes tomorrow better. Even if it's cold. Abby's talking to a ball and I am trying to keep a positive solitaire score until the diapers are ready for the drier. Or is it dryer? For the life of me I can't remember. Abby's talking is nearing crying.

Spit up on mu shoulder and I wonder what will give next. The neighbor tried to trade the cover of my garbage can for his ratty one in the wind this morning. Caught in the act. Not that he thought mine was his but it was easier than looking...

Electric heat upstairs so we won't be so cold. Isn't there always something to complain about? Life is good here with this little girl, her coos and smiles, and still I throw disinfecting wipes across the room. Because I don't get upset often I shouldn't get upset and when I do it doesn'y show so tonight I throw things and they come to an abrupt stop under the cold radiator. A couple tears and that doesn't help anything, family is still family and ashes thrown to Ipswich Bay can not be gotten back. Decisions made can not be changed when pride is on the line. You can't make a son visit his mother or a father visit his daughter. You can't stop a train wreck even if you see it happening.

Coffee with Gerrit this afternoon. Got a package from Glasgow, registered mail, signed for it at the post office. Walked down Dale Ave next to a man in Patriots gear who talked to me the whole time. Saw a woman at the Lone Gull who sort of knew me but couldn't figure how. Spoke with Jack at Mystery Train about babies and writing.

Abigail keeps turning her head like it's all the rage. Talk to the curtain. Wave at the light. Peek-a-boo! I see you.

I wish there were more Moomin books to read. That someone would stop by and say "Hey, want to go geet a quick drink?" That politicians didn't interupt soap operas. That I got more mail.

Why is it so hard to call repair people? Other people don't think they should be plumbers, carpenters and electricians. Why does it make me feel so useless?

Some good advice from eeksey peeksy.

Truth be told I am sick of cool. Like heavy talk with an upspeak like having a dream of talking like talking like yeah. Black and white and drunk and my art and yeah and wow. Of winning and losing and co-authors and blocking projects knit by other people. Complaining and matter and driving around looking at signs- Welcome home sailors and marines and soldiers and No More Bush and Lordy Lordy.

I have to admit I don't understand my boiler. How to keep the water in the glass tube right and which way to turn the vents. Can't afford to have the guy come show me and don't have the guts to admit it anyway. May go to the heating supply store near the state fish pier and ask with babe on my hip. It's cheaper that way. I need a new vent anyway.

What is this crap movie? Animated people talking about dreams. Crap. Referring to Lorca, of course.

I am also sick of weird.

If there are beautiful women at a party and I don't feel beautiful I am not one of them. I do not feel beautiful. I feel more like a machine. There is a list of things that need to be done and I will turn myself on and do them. I will turn myself off and rest. Repeat. No, that's not true. I wish I felt like a machine. There is a list of things I need to do but because I feel about too many things I can't seem to get them done.

I wish I were watching Monday Night Football with Jim Dunn.

Bills keep coming bills are always coming and no one no one knows how to pay them. Camper has a monkey shoe I can't resist but will. Tomorrow might bring me to Portsmouth for Kerry but the baby's in charge and I have no definite plans. Monkey shoes are in Portsmouth. Monkey shoes or boiler? Heat or food or fashion?

I need to say this before I forget: Fuck Curt Schilling.