Best discovery- My mom friends ( who are not my deepest soul friends) did not socially drop me because I wrote fiction about sex and athiests. ( worst discovery: I am a little too paranoid. My reality is not congruent with how I present to some people.... to be worked on).
Best weather- Today it was warm! The ice patch we did not tend to on the sidewalk could be cracked by slamming yr bootheel against it and pushing it apart in big chunks. good fun.
Best kid event- No school for Marie friday for conferences so she got to go to sibley park with her little sister. They were very joyful to be together the whole morning. They both made paper dinosaurs. June's was multicolored. Marie's was only purple and yellow. She has a passionate attachment to purple and pink. I suspect the yellow was a stand in for pink.
Best food all week..: Pho at the global market when I was really sick. The sickness was the sauce. I sat in a steamed daze eating this peppery soup and feeling all soggy and soupish myself. Ears popped as I ate some. June swirled aroudn with energy. I ate.
Best thing: Aaron got better. I got better
Best day: Yesterday. Girls spent morning together. I took them to OT. Marie threw up. surprised and sad Marie needed support. I cuddled her and took her home and we watched duck stories. Then she slept with me in the big bed. WHy was this the best? It jsut was. She felt better, I felt tender over her. June had a good morning, good day. This was a good day.
Best thing about this very second.... People watching the next table over.The houndstooth checked black and white coat.... and listening to Somali.
Plans for tommorow give away some of my favorite baby things that I no longer need at a friend's baby shower. Get up at 6:00 and take a walk to start the day off right. Go over the budget with Aaron.
Looking forward to all three.
JESSAMIN SNAIL TAKES A WALK
sábado, 5 de marzo de 2011
domingo, 27 de febrero de 2011
Writing and stress- a true story.
I had to do work today. A lot of work. Written work online involving a lot of precise requirements that neccesitated shuffling back and forth between pages online containing info and models of the work to be done and my creation. I was doing it. Inch by tedious inch. I started going NUTSY ! It was building up. I would do a segment go outside, stretch and breath feel all of me longingly looking out at the things out there like trees and clouds and people walking by that did not have to go back in and go back to part 11 of 16 of work to be done to finish the project.
I kept on going. All of my yearning squelched on down, getting worried about time. Getting worried about editing final product, getting worried about earlier parts that might need a second look, worrying about missing some things, getting worried about where some things were that I needed to look at. My stomach started hurting. I wrote a quick fb page. " I would rather be working on my blog!" Then just by writing that- tickling at my brain was a story and a poem and ticklish thoughts that wanted to be made by me. Things like butterflys that said "I'm beautiful and you can look at me or stay inside all day and miss me". So.... I bolted over to my blog. And it was so much fun! just in about 10 minutes wrote 3 random silly posts. 2 poems and a story. Just write write write. Just poured out. Then, Am I finished ? No more ticklish butterfly thoughts. ok. finished. ah. and I felt SO..... MUCH.... BETTER.
And coudl get back to work, and did. But its so interesting that I couldn't feel better by saying " you're doing it. It's coming together ... etc". But just a random poking a hole in my in my head
(metaphorically ;) and letting the steam out just made me all ready again. Like a good nap. recharged, feeling quirky like you do in the last tingling grasp of a dream where you are going " nah.. that would be silly.. " but still smiling inside, a genuine good feeling. Because you were SOMEWHERE ELSE just now.
( I think the caps in this post are left over from my emotional day). And its definately the process not the product. I do not care very much about the writings two posts down. I didn't even really want to slow down and re-read the when done. And don't care to re-read, re- write or re-visit them later. It just shows there are so many ways to refresh.
and... perhaps more importantly it shows you should not resist the creative impulses that seem to be time wasters or to have no point. They get you somewhere. They give you something.
I kept on going. All of my yearning squelched on down, getting worried about time. Getting worried about editing final product, getting worried about earlier parts that might need a second look, worrying about missing some things, getting worried about where some things were that I needed to look at. My stomach started hurting. I wrote a quick fb page. " I would rather be working on my blog!" Then just by writing that- tickling at my brain was a story and a poem and ticklish thoughts that wanted to be made by me. Things like butterflys that said "I'm beautiful and you can look at me or stay inside all day and miss me". So.... I bolted over to my blog. And it was so much fun! just in about 10 minutes wrote 3 random silly posts. 2 poems and a story. Just write write write. Just poured out. Then, Am I finished ? No more ticklish butterfly thoughts. ok. finished. ah. and I felt SO..... MUCH.... BETTER.
And coudl get back to work, and did. But its so interesting that I couldn't feel better by saying " you're doing it. It's coming together ... etc". But just a random poking a hole in my in my head
(metaphorically ;) and letting the steam out just made me all ready again. Like a good nap. recharged, feeling quirky like you do in the last tingling grasp of a dream where you are going " nah.. that would be silly.. " but still smiling inside, a genuine good feeling. Because you were SOMEWHERE ELSE just now.
( I think the caps in this post are left over from my emotional day). And its definately the process not the product. I do not care very much about the writings two posts down. I didn't even really want to slow down and re-read the when done. And don't care to re-read, re- write or re-visit them later. It just shows there are so many ways to refresh.
and... perhaps more importantly it shows you should not resist the creative impulses that seem to be time wasters or to have no point. They get you somewhere. They give you something.
we had a good time (fiction )
"well", she asked me blandly on the first date while I was eyeing her leg non- blandly in the way you do when the conversation has stopped because the food has arrived but you have eaten enough not to still be falling on your food in hunger. " so what was your childhood like ?" 'We had a good time", I said.
I remembered the day they unpacked my sister from the suitcase. "shhhh" Mumma said giggling. We unzipped the brown leather suitcase and my little sister giggled again after her silent journey. One by one we had been smuggled into the small apartment that Mumma had rented saying "yes, yes I have only one child and no pets".
After she left and the money ran out, we went to the park to get our water. Being children we were god of growth and magic so every tin can became filled with plants that we watered, and they grew up and sprawled on the balcony and by every window of the apartment. Sometimes the older couple below us would sneak a look out as my sisters grew bolder and at times went out on the balconies at dusk to water the plants and spill some over the edge to watch it fall. Our food containers full of plants built up and our friends came over everyday to play video games until the electricity got turned off.
Always the check would arrive barely on time. Past the time when the lights and water were off but before the case of Ramen was finished. Our mother never came with the money. I was the mother who paid the checks as I had been taught and occasionally fended off the landlady when she called to speak to my mother of whom my concept became increasingly complex as my inner picture of her grew dimmer. She was so beautiful that in my nightmares the best attributes of her beauty become the most horrible. Her soft hair swung over my mouth and blocked my breath like seaweed. I imagined her smile in my dreams but then it would fade and she would start to yell "You let your sisters out. If the little children go out you will all be taken away". My mother never yelled at me like that in my waking memories of her. My mother sent more letters about delay and she would soon be back. And she came back a few times to drop off money, and do up my sister's hair and we felt unnaccountably shabby and washed in love. Then she would have to leave back to her job in that other city - which we understood.
The little ones had to hide. They were not allowed to guy outside or people would find out about them, and we would all be taken away from our Mumma forever. The little ones were so good at first, staying inside and coloring or playing with my toys. I let them have my favorite toys formerly forbidden to make them stay quiet and content. Even though they used them in strange ways, stuffing playdough in holes or stacking up CD's to make small buildings and mountains to walk their little animals over. As the weeks passed it was harder and harder to keep them inside and so our schedule changed.
At night we could all go out and walk to the park or just roam around the streets to see where each led. The area of our city where we lived was large and impersonal enough that no one noticed the oddness of us. We were becoming such self sufficient children, only used to each other and un -used to adults and other children, that we would lie unhesitatingly in conversations with people in parks. Gradually our schedule arranged itself to avoid all normal day people. We started sleeping later and later in the day so that we could play and walk outside at night when no one else was around.
Becoming separate from everyone who was one of us was a gradual process. At first my friends came over daily as I reveled in my freedom from school and ability to host marathon video game sessions. The younger children didn't know how to contact their friends and neither did I so it was always my friends getting lied to that my mother was sleeping at her boyfriend's or late at work.
That changed as the apartment changed. One day I walked by the school, wanting to enter and knew I would not have anybody over anytime soon. They had quit coming anyway when we hid and stayed inside during the last period of no electricity since I was ashamed to let them in.
Before my mother didn't come home the last time my littlest sister died. She did. Alone that day. Stretching tall on the chair her bare legs tan beneath her light blue too tight dress. She stood on her tiptoes and the chair wobbled and she fell. We found her like that when we came home the patch of sun lying on her leg. And when we tried to put her in the suitcase to take her out of the apartment one last time -" she doesn't fit anymore" my sister said.
All that was is gone. There was a whole row of places we all went to after that apartment. And now I am sitting here on this date, so ready to have a good date and fall into that first kiss that might just open like a flower and we will be falling onto the bed; and with all the good will in the world sliding into this woman whose legs attract me. She smiles at me and it seems to be a calculating smile. I know I don't really have much of an idea of who she is but I know she likes me. It is a random encounter for both of us and we are both beautiful people. "We had a good time", I say.
** comment- to people who might read this who know me and notice this doesn't quite fit into normal blog routine of chat about June and Marie. I kind of think of this blog as just a place to write anything I want to so there is no theme to my blog at present ! (other than amuse myself). this is like a movie in my head that starts on a date with a cute guy and and a overdressed woman and kind of casual flirtyness between them and she ask a banal question about his childhood as she flirts with him under the table... and he said says ' we had a good time" as he thinks back to his childhood when the family was abandoned by the mother in a very gradual way and things fell apart but they were utterly free and also had some very good times. ( based on a true story). (so he's saying a simple truth and lying answer because his childhood is just crazy and its just all lie and all truth what he says).
- so its a mini story of something very long and like half present (like I think of it as a book. but I am not going to write it, and this would be a summary of a big long book- there's more in there). The woman and the man are kind of 2 people using eahc other . Him: Back then in the past he is very pure and kids just struggling to survive and he is a very good kid and in charge of everything- feeding siblings and lying to them about their mom. And now he is just grown up and just a bit lost (and good looking.. lol.). She; just incidental to be part of the scene. to be beautiful and to be like that random date you go on where anything can happen and ;you went " hmmm, what shall I make happen?" ( in a way like that or depending on the age, situation etc. maybe it wasn't so concious... ;)
I remembered the day they unpacked my sister from the suitcase. "shhhh" Mumma said giggling. We unzipped the brown leather suitcase and my little sister giggled again after her silent journey. One by one we had been smuggled into the small apartment that Mumma had rented saying "yes, yes I have only one child and no pets".
After she left and the money ran out, we went to the park to get our water. Being children we were god of growth and magic so every tin can became filled with plants that we watered, and they grew up and sprawled on the balcony and by every window of the apartment. Sometimes the older couple below us would sneak a look out as my sisters grew bolder and at times went out on the balconies at dusk to water the plants and spill some over the edge to watch it fall. Our food containers full of plants built up and our friends came over everyday to play video games until the electricity got turned off.
Always the check would arrive barely on time. Past the time when the lights and water were off but before the case of Ramen was finished. Our mother never came with the money. I was the mother who paid the checks as I had been taught and occasionally fended off the landlady when she called to speak to my mother of whom my concept became increasingly complex as my inner picture of her grew dimmer. She was so beautiful that in my nightmares the best attributes of her beauty become the most horrible. Her soft hair swung over my mouth and blocked my breath like seaweed. I imagined her smile in my dreams but then it would fade and she would start to yell "You let your sisters out. If the little children go out you will all be taken away". My mother never yelled at me like that in my waking memories of her. My mother sent more letters about delay and she would soon be back. And she came back a few times to drop off money, and do up my sister's hair and we felt unnaccountably shabby and washed in love. Then she would have to leave back to her job in that other city - which we understood.
The little ones had to hide. They were not allowed to guy outside or people would find out about them, and we would all be taken away from our Mumma forever. The little ones were so good at first, staying inside and coloring or playing with my toys. I let them have my favorite toys formerly forbidden to make them stay quiet and content. Even though they used them in strange ways, stuffing playdough in holes or stacking up CD's to make small buildings and mountains to walk their little animals over. As the weeks passed it was harder and harder to keep them inside and so our schedule changed.
At night we could all go out and walk to the park or just roam around the streets to see where each led. The area of our city where we lived was large and impersonal enough that no one noticed the oddness of us. We were becoming such self sufficient children, only used to each other and un -used to adults and other children, that we would lie unhesitatingly in conversations with people in parks. Gradually our schedule arranged itself to avoid all normal day people. We started sleeping later and later in the day so that we could play and walk outside at night when no one else was around.
Becoming separate from everyone who was one of us was a gradual process. At first my friends came over daily as I reveled in my freedom from school and ability to host marathon video game sessions. The younger children didn't know how to contact their friends and neither did I so it was always my friends getting lied to that my mother was sleeping at her boyfriend's or late at work.
That changed as the apartment changed. One day I walked by the school, wanting to enter and knew I would not have anybody over anytime soon. They had quit coming anyway when we hid and stayed inside during the last period of no electricity since I was ashamed to let them in.
Before my mother didn't come home the last time my littlest sister died. She did. Alone that day. Stretching tall on the chair her bare legs tan beneath her light blue too tight dress. She stood on her tiptoes and the chair wobbled and she fell. We found her like that when we came home the patch of sun lying on her leg. And when we tried to put her in the suitcase to take her out of the apartment one last time -" she doesn't fit anymore" my sister said.
All that was is gone. There was a whole row of places we all went to after that apartment. And now I am sitting here on this date, so ready to have a good date and fall into that first kiss that might just open like a flower and we will be falling onto the bed; and with all the good will in the world sliding into this woman whose legs attract me. She smiles at me and it seems to be a calculating smile. I know I don't really have much of an idea of who she is but I know she likes me. It is a random encounter for both of us and we are both beautiful people. "We had a good time", I say.
** comment- to people who might read this who know me and notice this doesn't quite fit into normal blog routine of chat about June and Marie. I kind of think of this blog as just a place to write anything I want to so there is no theme to my blog at present ! (other than amuse myself). this is like a movie in my head that starts on a date with a cute guy and and a overdressed woman and kind of casual flirtyness between them and she ask a banal question about his childhood as she flirts with him under the table... and he said says ' we had a good time" as he thinks back to his childhood when the family was abandoned by the mother in a very gradual way and things fell apart but they were utterly free and also had some very good times. ( based on a true story). (so he's saying a simple truth and lying answer because his childhood is just crazy and its just all lie and all truth what he says).
- so its a mini story of something very long and like half present (like I think of it as a book. but I am not going to write it, and this would be a summary of a big long book- there's more in there). The woman and the man are kind of 2 people using eahc other . Him: Back then in the past he is very pure and kids just struggling to survive and he is a very good kid and in charge of everything- feeding siblings and lying to them about their mom. And now he is just grown up and just a bit lost (and good looking.. lol.). She; just incidental to be part of the scene. to be beautiful and to be like that random date you go on where anything can happen and ;you went " hmmm, what shall I make happen?" ( in a way like that or depending on the age, situation etc. maybe it wasn't so concious... ;)
lip poem
the edge of wrist
these lips have kissed
dialogue of sleeve and vein
that is the skin between.
these lips have kissed
dialogue of sleeve and vein
that is the skin between.
in a muddle
unable to concentrate. unable to finish. do not feel like am on the right course, this muddle breaks through all things that make me up, like high tide's even advance over the whole beach.
outside of me,
if my thoughts could be tangible and all of what is me
my entire past and present soul- all the intangible parts
could be visible.
so me represented by everything not face, body, hair, voice......
(the ungroomed version, the never seen parts)
would that extraordinary muddle be beautiful? like a tangled ball of windblown grasses blown into a circle
or bashed and ground sea glass, whose sharp edges gone changes from trash to something pebblish
and urges the hand down to touch, bring closer for a look.
please let it be so.
let this stress be annealing.
athiest's prayer.
outside of me,
if my thoughts could be tangible and all of what is me
my entire past and present soul- all the intangible parts
could be visible.
so me represented by everything not face, body, hair, voice......
(the ungroomed version, the never seen parts)
would that extraordinary muddle be beautiful? like a tangled ball of windblown grasses blown into a circle
or bashed and ground sea glass, whose sharp edges gone changes from trash to something pebblish
and urges the hand down to touch, bring closer for a look.
please let it be so.
let this stress be annealing.
athiest's prayer.
miércoles, 23 de febrero de 2011
Snail trail
Places I went this week....
TOday! up and at em.
to the car!
Today... slipsloppy snow is mush underfoot. Kinda nice.
To the Minneapolis Institute of the arts:
driving is like a video game- pothole* swerve left. Big chunk of snow blows off pick up passing you. * loose vision for a second. Can't turn left because street hasn't been cleared. thick pile of snow * drive forward 2 blocks loop back to find the right street, turn left. Loop back
ETC!
whole foods st. paul
ah...so pretty how they stack the foods.
Monday:
snowed in.
sunday: snowed in. wee blizzard started. wait! Marin's house. we did make it out.
kid's on sleds... walking over. and easiest ( least snow) to walk in the ( empty) street.
Saturday- Samantha's house. Tutoring her in adding fractions. simplifying fractions. knowing "fraction words" and playing SET. No pictures to post of course, but her living room is orange with dark trim and the dining room is light blue with dark trim. A harmonious space.
Friday- Uptown YWCA
no photos anywhere of this usefull spot and it's lovely orange awning with big white letters saying
" eliminating racism
empowering Women YWCA " as good as a cup of coffee to give you a little lift.
If only both things were fait accompli!
Thursday- Longfellow park rec center ( open gym)
We played with a big pink ball and a lovely child named Leah.
Wednesday - Como zoo
Junie does not like snow, however she does not mind animal stench and loves giraffes. So, for a thrilling half hour she watched them amble about eating bits of food from bins placed high up on the walls and fence. For me a " why doesn't this child like sledding?!" ran through my mind more than once. Actually of the hoofed stock- the kudus were the best. (They are striped antelopeish things with twisted horns.) When we entered their winter barn every single kudu sat, in a very upright kneeling way on a separate black rubber mat. All the same. They just sat, looking content on their mats. No action from the contented Kudus.
TOday! up and at em.
to the car!
Today... slipsloppy snow is mush underfoot. Kinda nice.
To the Minneapolis Institute of the arts:
driving is like a video game- pothole* swerve left. Big chunk of snow blows off pick up passing you. * loose vision for a second. Can't turn left because street hasn't been cleared. thick pile of snow * drive forward 2 blocks loop back to find the right street, turn left. Loop back
ETC!
 |
| our destination |
 | ||||||||||||
| hello there |
| up a floor, more to see |
Tuesday
whole foods st. paul
Monday:
sunday: snowed in. wee blizzard started. wait! Marin's house. we did make it out.
kid's on sleds... walking over. and easiest ( least snow) to walk in the ( empty) street.
 | ||||
| this kid is a snowlover and plays in snow as much as possible. Here seen sitting in her "house" she scooped out. |
Friday- Uptown YWCA
no photos anywhere of this usefull spot and it's lovely orange awning with big white letters saying
" eliminating racism
empowering Women YWCA " as good as a cup of coffee to give you a little lift.
If only both things were fait accompli!
We played with a big pink ball and a lovely child named Leah.
Wednesday - Como zoo
 | ||
| We sat in this stinky room for a very very very long time watcing the giraffes tenderly lick the walls with their long, purple tongues. |
domingo, 16 de enero de 2011
The Bears and their housies
The mother bear when she was older than 20,000 days, yes that old, realized her children were goblins. She noticed when they came back to her house for a visit. The large grown children stomped upstairs and crashed the boxes around- until she realized " they are goblins! These are not bears, they are goblins". But they were good goblins. Good to their small goblin child and good to their own father and mother bear, so she did not worry.
Many years ago the bear parents were strong and dreamy. They looked at the ground and dreamed of zuchinnis, okra, tomatoes, melons and all kinds of vegetables they liked to eat and " poof" enormous plants grew to the sky. Then they walked deeper into the forest away from the sun until they found the perfect spot. "oh" sighed mother bear. "Yes, " agreed father bear and they hugged in the forest. As their children played in the garden the two bears walked together. They drew long straight lines in the earth. " no" said the mother bear. " hmmmm- no " said the father bear. The children darted in and out of the long shadows of the garden plants. The sun was setting. In the woods on their long porch the mother and father bear looked around at the giant house they had dreamed. " Shall we call in the children for supper? " mother bear said.
The children ate fondu with long sticks and slowly chewed carrots and grapes. Very quickly they grew big and soon they were gone. All the bear children went very far away as they explored the world and learned to dream themselves. The oldest bear dreamed herself onto a plane- sat politely sipping tea as it flew her across the ocean. She landed in London and there she stayed in a small house just right for her. Once she dreamed of another bear and she woke up, he was there. He had dreamed of his own bear and it was she. These bears loved to play and drink beer. They were silly bears.
The next oldest bear dreamed in circles and slowly looped away from the house. She dreamed of something she could not see- a feeling of perfect satisfaction. This bear while asleep would dream of cats and teapots and cakes and when she awoke she would find these things clustered all over the house and say "shoo" and push away the cakes and put away the the teapots. But the best cats would not leave her and stayed to watch her, and the cakes were sweet as the middle bear grew more and more satisfied. She nibbled on a carrot one day and "poof" dreamed her own house. "why not?" she said " I mean I don't love it" but inside her the satisfaction sighed and grew.
The third bear had a desire to always see new things and could not walk in a straight line. So this bear was always left or right of where she intended to go. One day this bear realized how easy dreaming in a straight way could be. She sat right where she was and dreamed a house. Snow covered it. Somehow it was another bear's house and he invited her in.
The littlest bear dreamed of the ocean. She opened her eyes and it stretched out in front of her. " How beautiful" she said and took pictures and blew on them to make them shine. She stuck her shining pictures all over her house and smiled at night. In the morning she blinked and dreamed a family. "Mama!" said the littlest bear. "Mom!" shouted the older bear child. "Hello" said their father. The family paw in paw admired the shining pictures. Then walked to the ocean as the sun set. " How nice", said the third bear. Her children raced away and the mother and father bear sat down in the warm sand.
The four grown bear children's dreams shifted and went everywhere. They dreamed new houses then blinked them away for different houses as their desires shifted. However, the mother and father bear kept their original two dreams. The trees around their house in the woods remained tall and beautiful.
The house remained as perfect as it ever was to them. But they noticed the roof leaked here and there. They noticed the wind had blown down bits and edges at the corners while they had been in the warm center sipping tea and reading stories. Then, the wind blew a tree branch right through a window. It crashed onto mother bear in her bed.
She growled and cried, and her wounds would not heal. The father bear grew sad and grizzled. From then on, the mother bear ran a small silver bell when she wanted her tea and toast, and the garden shriveled and sank back into the ground.
Now the father had to walk in to town to buy beets and meats and carrots and ingredients for pie. As he rolled the dough a tear or two might fall. "This is salty" the mother bear would say. " Yes" said the father bear as they ate their pie by the bed.
The children said " Come be with us. There are small houses waiting for you at the end of each of our driveways. " However, the old bears could not leave their dream. They loved it even though it was no longer as magnificent as when they were young and powerful dreamers. They did not want to leave.
However, the wind continued to whistle into their house. Hungry wolves smelling their sadness and their meat pies gathered, and paced around the house. Over the years the wolves made a deep track around the house. "Shoo" the father bear would say, flinging a chunk of wood at them. The hungry wolves would leap on it and it would turn to meat when it touched their mouths.
Fed like this, on bits of meat, the wolves did not storm the house. But ever they paced. The path grew deeper.
Their snarls would wake the dreaming mother. She would set aside her strong tea as sweet smoke coiled around her head to dull the pain. " I hear wolves again!" she would shout.
"shoo" said the father bear. He flung his chunks of wood.
The house started to tip and lean, unbalanced by the movement of displaced earth caused by the wolves deep tracks.
Far away the grown up bear children, none living in the woods, hummed and sang and drove cars and played with their friends and children. Their dreams were nearly complete, and wrapped around them.
One day a wolf hunter in a black hat found the bit of forest where father and mother bear lived. His eyes gleamed at the sight of all those wolves. He raised his black gun. "Bang, Bang, Bang!" He shot the wolves. Smoke drifted in the silent air. The hunter cut down two trees and made a bridge over the steep moat surrounding the house. "Hello" he said. The bears let him in and gave him tea. The hunter stayed. He hunted deer and rabbit and gave the bears meat for their pies. With no wolves about both the bears were more content. "How did this happen " they mused. "So many wolves...." The father bear filled in the moat. The mother bear sewed wolfskin rugs.
The hunter walked here and there. " What a beautiful place" said the hunter thinking of the deer leaping away from him that morning. "This place is just right for me" he said. "That is what we said a long time ago" said the bears. "That is what we still say" murmured the bears.
The bears and the hunter watched a cardinal hop from branch to branch. They smelled the air.
The hunter pulled out a sack of gold and gave it to the bears. " I want to live here someday" said the hunger. The bears' eyes used to looking at each other looked into his. The sun rose and the sun set. The bears walked in the forest and planted flowers and felt as happy as ever they had.
Far away a tear plopped from the littlest bear's eyes as her bear mother ended the story. " Why do things have to end?" she cried. Inside the tears welled up and made her feel powerful. "No!" she cried.
Many years ago the bear parents were strong and dreamy. They looked at the ground and dreamed of zuchinnis, okra, tomatoes, melons and all kinds of vegetables they liked to eat and " poof" enormous plants grew to the sky. Then they walked deeper into the forest away from the sun until they found the perfect spot. "oh" sighed mother bear. "Yes, " agreed father bear and they hugged in the forest. As their children played in the garden the two bears walked together. They drew long straight lines in the earth. " no" said the mother bear. " hmmmm- no " said the father bear. The children darted in and out of the long shadows of the garden plants. The sun was setting. In the woods on their long porch the mother and father bear looked around at the giant house they had dreamed. " Shall we call in the children for supper? " mother bear said.
The children ate fondu with long sticks and slowly chewed carrots and grapes. Very quickly they grew big and soon they were gone. All the bear children went very far away as they explored the world and learned to dream themselves. The oldest bear dreamed herself onto a plane- sat politely sipping tea as it flew her across the ocean. She landed in London and there she stayed in a small house just right for her. Once she dreamed of another bear and she woke up, he was there. He had dreamed of his own bear and it was she. These bears loved to play and drink beer. They were silly bears.
The next oldest bear dreamed in circles and slowly looped away from the house. She dreamed of something she could not see- a feeling of perfect satisfaction. This bear while asleep would dream of cats and teapots and cakes and when she awoke she would find these things clustered all over the house and say "shoo" and push away the cakes and put away the the teapots. But the best cats would not leave her and stayed to watch her, and the cakes were sweet as the middle bear grew more and more satisfied. She nibbled on a carrot one day and "poof" dreamed her own house. "why not?" she said " I mean I don't love it" but inside her the satisfaction sighed and grew.
The third bear had a desire to always see new things and could not walk in a straight line. So this bear was always left or right of where she intended to go. One day this bear realized how easy dreaming in a straight way could be. She sat right where she was and dreamed a house. Snow covered it. Somehow it was another bear's house and he invited her in.
The littlest bear dreamed of the ocean. She opened her eyes and it stretched out in front of her. " How beautiful" she said and took pictures and blew on them to make them shine. She stuck her shining pictures all over her house and smiled at night. In the morning she blinked and dreamed a family. "Mama!" said the littlest bear. "Mom!" shouted the older bear child. "Hello" said their father. The family paw in paw admired the shining pictures. Then walked to the ocean as the sun set. " How nice", said the third bear. Her children raced away and the mother and father bear sat down in the warm sand.
The four grown bear children's dreams shifted and went everywhere. They dreamed new houses then blinked them away for different houses as their desires shifted. However, the mother and father bear kept their original two dreams. The trees around their house in the woods remained tall and beautiful.
The house remained as perfect as it ever was to them. But they noticed the roof leaked here and there. They noticed the wind had blown down bits and edges at the corners while they had been in the warm center sipping tea and reading stories. Then, the wind blew a tree branch right through a window. It crashed onto mother bear in her bed.
She growled and cried, and her wounds would not heal. The father bear grew sad and grizzled. From then on, the mother bear ran a small silver bell when she wanted her tea and toast, and the garden shriveled and sank back into the ground.
Now the father had to walk in to town to buy beets and meats and carrots and ingredients for pie. As he rolled the dough a tear or two might fall. "This is salty" the mother bear would say. " Yes" said the father bear as they ate their pie by the bed.
The children said " Come be with us. There are small houses waiting for you at the end of each of our driveways. " However, the old bears could not leave their dream. They loved it even though it was no longer as magnificent as when they were young and powerful dreamers. They did not want to leave.
However, the wind continued to whistle into their house. Hungry wolves smelling their sadness and their meat pies gathered, and paced around the house. Over the years the wolves made a deep track around the house. "Shoo" the father bear would say, flinging a chunk of wood at them. The hungry wolves would leap on it and it would turn to meat when it touched their mouths.
Fed like this, on bits of meat, the wolves did not storm the house. But ever they paced. The path grew deeper.
Their snarls would wake the dreaming mother. She would set aside her strong tea as sweet smoke coiled around her head to dull the pain. " I hear wolves again!" she would shout.
"shoo" said the father bear. He flung his chunks of wood.
The house started to tip and lean, unbalanced by the movement of displaced earth caused by the wolves deep tracks.
Far away the grown up bear children, none living in the woods, hummed and sang and drove cars and played with their friends and children. Their dreams were nearly complete, and wrapped around them.
One day a wolf hunter in a black hat found the bit of forest where father and mother bear lived. His eyes gleamed at the sight of all those wolves. He raised his black gun. "Bang, Bang, Bang!" He shot the wolves. Smoke drifted in the silent air. The hunter cut down two trees and made a bridge over the steep moat surrounding the house. "Hello" he said. The bears let him in and gave him tea. The hunter stayed. He hunted deer and rabbit and gave the bears meat for their pies. With no wolves about both the bears were more content. "How did this happen " they mused. "So many wolves...." The father bear filled in the moat. The mother bear sewed wolfskin rugs.
The hunter walked here and there. " What a beautiful place" said the hunter thinking of the deer leaping away from him that morning. "This place is just right for me" he said. "That is what we said a long time ago" said the bears. "That is what we still say" murmured the bears.
The bears and the hunter watched a cardinal hop from branch to branch. They smelled the air.
The hunter pulled out a sack of gold and gave it to the bears. " I want to live here someday" said the hunger. The bears' eyes used to looking at each other looked into his. The sun rose and the sun set. The bears walked in the forest and planted flowers and felt as happy as ever they had.
Far away a tear plopped from the littlest bear's eyes as her bear mother ended the story. " Why do things have to end?" she cried. Inside the tears welled up and made her feel powerful. "No!" she cried.
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