This is Just to Say...

Have you heard this poem by William Carlos Williams? This is one of those non-apology apologies. Kind of like a non-denial denial. It says "Forgive Me," but the concensus is that he'd do it again.

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Apparently this one of those poems that people like to try to write themselves. Some people spoof it, some are serious. This American Life did a segment on it and was hilarious. My favorite was the one that went something like, This is just to say that I had sex with your sister during the wedding reception... But the cabernet was so sweet and cold...Here's the link. It's in the last section of the show, around minute 49.
I was inspired to ask my students to try their own poems. One of them was a break up letter to me, I think. I'll be surprised if I see him in my class again.
Here was my favorite:
This is Just to say
by Everest
I'm sorry I didn't take you to the concert
I tried to call
but my phone was not charged
The girl next door is a fan of the band
so I took her along
We had a blast
I'm sure we could of had a blast too.

And now, here's my attempt:
This is just to say
I stabbed your husband’s hand with a knife
it was only a butter knife.
Sorry, but his hand was reaching for the last brownie
and that hand,
so recently smacked away from my ass,
did not deserve the moist chocolate - too.

So, how 'bout it? Can you write a non-apology apology poem like William Carlos Williams?

It's Only Swimming, Right?

My kids drifted into swimming. They started with little summer leagues and my husband wondered if they'd ever learn to rotary breath (that's when they turn their heads to the side). They didn't seem particularly competitive. They'd swim their races then clamor for snacks. They were learning to swim well and I didn't mind those Saturday mornings at the pool.
Then five years ago, they started year-round swim team. At Grace's first indoor meet she had to swim a 200-yard race. She cried. She didn't want to do it. Couldn't possibly do it. I saw the swim coach dash to the end of her lane and lean over as Grace hung on the wall rather than turning around to swim another lap. Afterward, I got her some chocolate and asked what the coach said. "She told me if I got out I couldn't swim any more," Grace said. So she'd finished against her will.
"You were ahead until you stopped," I pointed out."I still finished ahead of that one girl," she replied, her fingers smeared with Snickers bar.
The next summer at the outdoor pool, Grace stomped out of the fence that surrounded the pool.
"Good job, honey. You won," I said.
"Yeah, but did you see that girl? She was trying to get ahead of me!"
That's when it clicked. She wanted to win. Maybe she hadn't realized all that time that those girls were trying to get in front of her, to touch the wall first.
Now she's the star of her high school team, her relay has qualified for a national meet and she's within four-tenths of a second of making a national time all on her own. She gets a slow trickle of letters from college coaches. Mostly small schools, division two or three, but sometimes division one schools.
"If it wasn't about the money, about a scholarship, would you want to swim at college?" I've asked her.
She says yes. She'll have a group to hang with. She'll belong.
But sometimes, when she's mad about a coaching change or when the new girl on the team flirts with the boys too much, she'll call me and say, "That's it! I am finished with swimming!"
I know she doesn't mean it. But would I be okay if she did? I think of all the money we've spent on swim. She quit ballet five years ago and I was afraid she'd really miss it. She didn't. I guess I'm okay with spending money on a sport or activity even if it doesn't lead to big college bucks. I guess I have to be.
Last week, though, a mother from our team told me a story that has me holding my breath when Grace swims. She talked of a boy who was on our team and he got a scholarship for $16,000 a year. When that boy made his national time, they upped it to $24,000 a year. Gulp! That's $8000 per year for swimming a national time. Grace is less than half a second away from potentially pulling in an extra $32,000. Can I pretend that this is no big deal? Should I not mention it because I don't want to put pressure on her? This is HUGE! I don't want to be one of those moms screaming with the raspy voice: "GET HER! CATCH HER!"
I still want to be the mom who calls, "Go Grace! Good job."
That's a lot of money though. And the next time she phones and says, "I've had it. I'm finished" will I swallow and listen, or will I say, "Get your butt back in that pool and earn your college tuition."
Maybe instead I'll just do the cheer my friend Susan taught me this weekend. She reminded me of the Saturday Night Live Spartan cheerleader skit with Will Farrell when they visited a swim meet. Their cheer went like this:
"Taco!
Burrito!
What's coming out of your speedo?
You got troubles, whooo!
You'r blowin' bubbles, whooo!"
And so, I spent the weekend looking away from high school boys in tiny Speedos, trying not to think of the cheer and trying not to expect Grace to earn her college tuition in the swimming pool. It's only swimming, right?

Why I Can't Afford Not to Buy a Mac

You know those commercials for PCs? The ones that show ordinary people who need computers. They say what their requirements are and then they go into Best Buy and shop for a computer. The Mac always looks tempting, but it's out of their price range, so they buy a PC and walk out happy. They are especially happy when someone hands them a wad of cash, reimbursing them for their PC purchase.
When we started out with computers, about 1994, we bought a Mac. Then about five years later, we bought another -- an iMac that was blue. It was big and took up a lot of the desk, but I was so glad that it didn't have one of those crazy PC towers. Sometime in the 2000s, my boys started lobbying for a PC so they could play games. Well, games were not a high priority for me, but I did want a laptop so I could take my computer out of the house and away from children. I bought my first laptop about 5 years ago. It was a black Compaq and cost around $1500. It did what I needed it to for a few years then it died, taking many of my digital photos with it. I had a new hard drive put in for a few hundred dollars but it didn't run well, so I bought a small compact silver Compaq Presario. It lasted a year and half or two years and then the motor started making a strange noise. I kept backing it up and sure enough, one day, it wouldn't start. Again, I had a new hard drive put in and it works like a glorified word processor. Not to worry though, I'd taken the plunge at Circuit City as it was going out of business. I bought a Toshiba PC in late November, spending only about $900 on it, plus the $199 for Microsoft Office. And now, only six months later, I am unable to turn on my shiny blue Toshiba. I'm only in a mild panic, since summer quarter started today and all of my prompts and lesson plans are on that computer. Not to mention, Quicken, which keeps track of how much money we have in our accounts, all of our digital photos, my previous novel Trail Mix and my current novel The Summer of France, and a list of agents I've sent query letters to. I'm in a bit of denial that it has given up the ghost. Everytime I turn it on, I expect that this time it will boot up. No... maybe this time... No.
So, I'm contemplating whether to contact Toshiba. I know Circit City has gone under, much like the computer. Then it hit me. The company I really need to contact is Apple. I'll tell them my story, how I ended up spending $5000 on three laptops in five years. How I could have spent that money on a reliable Mac that would have lasted five years. And if I'd wanted to upgrade, I could have sold the used Mac for some good money. I could point out that if I'd bought a Mac, I'd have all of my children's photos and I would currently sound like a more persuasive teacher than the woman who hems and haws, trying to remember what was on that lesson plan.
Then, maybe Apple will send me to Apple store to pick out a sleek laptop and when I walk out case in hand, they'll reimburse me the money, just like on the PC commercials where those suckers are buying a PC, not realizing they'll be back at the store within two years to buy another, then another, then another.

Sensations From Our Run

After a night of heavy rain and lightning flashes across the sky, we met at the lake at 6:30. Well, some of us were there at 6:30. Noreen was delayed by a rainbow. "A backward rainbow," she called it because it was in the west when usually they're in the east, but I pointed out that what was the east to her was west to somebody farther east.
The temperature was in the 60s so it should have been pleasant, but the air already felt thick. The first few miles are always the worst. My nose is stuffed up and my legs feel like they are slogging along the path. We run beside the traffic before we turn and go under an overpass. Then we run along the river. Today it was brown and muddy. It looked like it wasn't moving, until we'd pass a spot with rapids and see it bubbling with froth.
I couldn't begin to recreate the conversations that keep us moving. Something about muscles and mothers-in-law and fishing and fathers and ex-mothers-in-law. Our stories are all over the place. Maybe they're only there to distract us from the number of times our feet hit the pavement.
We made the turn at 3.75 miles to head back and Noreen shared a "shot block" with me. It's like a gummy, thick and gooey, sticking to my teeth. "I can't run again until I get this all off my teeth," I protested, chugging water to wash it down.
Noreen and I ran a bit ahead, I think it was the energy from the shots. As we neared the lake, my phone, which was in Noreen's backpack, rang. Spencer was preparing to leave for basketball camp and trying to locate the last few items he needed. I answered his questions and debated whether to run the next two miles or to just go home and help gather things. Earl called and made it sound like everything was under control so I kept going.
Things get fuzzy here. A big focus of our conversations is asserting our wishes. Being women, we talk about doing what other people want us to do, so we all try to encourage each other to follow our own paths. As we ran past the parking lot, Pam strongly urged me to go home to get Spencer to camp. I was tempted. But, he was only going to be gone for three days, and these women changed their plans to run with me on Friday. I kept going those extra two miles.
We saw three goldfinches flit above the tall plants beside the trail. Their backs and bellies shone bright yellow in the morning air. Tiny bunnies hopped into the underbrush, hiding beneath leaves.
When I got home, I tasted salt at the edges of my mouth and felt that burned, raw feeling on my butt where the shorts had rubbed. Long runs can be painful, but they can also be the most fulfilling part of the day, sometimes the week. A couple hours with my friends, sharing accidental run-ins with nature.