C. Jane Reads

Somewhere Over the Rainbow is stuck in my head today. I’m not thinking Judy Garland or the giant Hawaiian Israel Kamakawiwoʻole with the tiniest ukulele, but John’s mom, my mother-in-law. He’s with her now in Colorado Springs, not Israel, but John, though she and Israel may be together soon it seems, Barbara is in the later stages of dementia. She doesn’t know that her son is there with her for three weeks, making her meals, taking her for walks, bathing her, and wiping her ass. But she does know the piano. Show tunes. Her home is filled with bookcases full of sheet music. Irving Berlin. Cole Porter. George Gershwin. Harold Arlen’s name is not as famous s these, his tune is possibly more so.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow has been one of Barbara’s mainstays for decades. She plays it with all the flourishes of an extravagant French dessert a Gateau Basque or a Tarte Normande...

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Humans should not be called upon to design their own Power Point presentation templates, which is how I wasted too much of my time this afternoon. But I don’t think that’s what the prompt is about. Actually, I have no idea what the prompt means. I consulted Dr. Google. 

“Human Design is a pseudoscience combining astrology, I Ching, Kabbalah, and the Chakras. There are 5 different Human Design Types in the Human Design system. They are the Manifestor, Generator, Manifesting Generator, Projector, and Reflector.”

Chester the Manifestor comes to mind. And chakras are something I can sink my teeth into, but let’s go with the ORs in Generator, Projector, and Reflector.

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The phrase the heroine’s journey immediately makes me think of Lou Reed’s Heroin recorded with the Velvet Underground. It’s not an uplifting song about putting a spike into one’s veins in order to feel like a man; but the song’s protagonist does take a journey wearing a cute sailor suit and cap. I picture him as Max in Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are. Children’s stories – even those that say, “Let the wild rumpus start,” instead of, “Let the wild rumpus begin,” – are always a better starting place than injected addictives.

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I was an impatient child. In my Howdy-Doody-style cowboy hat with chin strap, my red cowboy boots without socks, my fringed faux-leather skirt and dirty striped t-shirt, I’d stomp. I’d pout and stomp. My skin was tanned, my shoulder-length hair was uncombed, and sun bleached, my mouth was stained by red Kool Aid and maybe grape jelly. 

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Our writing prompt tonight is independence day—with or without capital letters. Given that this July Fourth I will happily celebrate #hash tag all countries matter, I’m opting for the lower-case version tonight. Lower-case independence day is the day I have longed for all my life. Perhaps longed is too weighty a term. Striven might a be better word,   for I have not actively longed for independence. Instead I have danced around it seeking out activities that demand independence yet shying away from full commitment to them. 

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I live in one of Vermont’s most populated county’s smallest towns on top of a hill where there was once a flourishing orchard. Orchard Hill is right next door to the elementary school that one hundred years ago was the town’s high school. Between my house and the school is a sliver of forest maybe 30 yards wide. The view from my back porch is of a deep green meadow, rolling hills beyond. In the evenings I sit here sipping a glass of wine listening to the birds settle down and the neighbor’s chickens roost for the evening...

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“What is your identity?” I ask the dog lying there near my feet on the cool floor. It was in the 90s today, so Dewey spent most of his time with me in my office on the first floor, the coolest room in the house. I took him to swim at Horseshoe Bend on the Huntington River. The water was much colder than the cool floor of my office, though it was not as cold as it was swimming in Lake McDonald at Glacier National Park last year...

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It has come to my attention that Mabel is a guy. The shape of her tail and the presence of her wattle give every indication that she is developing into a rooster. Her behavior has begun to support this gender claim...

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