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2019 1216 aunt diane

Here is a true and recent story about my Aunt, Diane Householder Norrbom.

A couple of weeks ago Diane’s sister, my Mother, Jane Stoneman, had half her power go out in her house when lightning struck quite nearby. Supposedly all fuses and breakers were checked. Two major electrical firms, George Brazil and Parker Brothers, were called for diagnosis and help. The George Brazil estimate came in at $14,000. Parker Brothers wanted $11K. Diane drives over from California. Finds a fuse box no one checked, including the two prestigious firms listed above. Finds replacement fuses in a drawer. Hey, presto–full power.

But it gets worse, then better. Some signs all is not right. Home security batteries need to be replaced, plus at least one surge protector. Diane goes to Home Depot. “Picked up a guy there who said he was an electrician,” says Diane. She took him to Mom’s and he finds that the intermittent-outage problems that are still occurring are due to APS (Arizona Public Service Company, Mom’s power supplier) not doing a good job when they switched Mom to a “smart meter.” They call APS. APS checks, ACKNOWLEDGES FAULT, and makes things right. Mom’s house’s wiring fully restored. Diane spent a LOT less than a grand–maybe between $250 and $500–to completely fix the problem, and update the maintenance on the alarm system’s backup power to boot.

At the same time, she got Mom a new, dependable yard guy, who worked tirelessly to clear tree-debris and get Mom’s yard back on track. She did a boatload of other things too. All in one long weekend.

So this is my salute to her. It’s awfully clumsy. Diane is Beautiful, but my portrait of her is off the mark, because, as always with those I care deeply about, I tried too hard and clenched up. But the respect and love is there.

In the poem, I call her an “Uber-Mama.” That’s not saying she drives an Uber. It’s saying she’s the Mama of all Mamas. Heck, she’s even playing Mama to MY Mama at this point. She has a power of attorney, and thank Heaven she does–enough said about that!

I also compare her to Top Ramen, that favorite of college students, because Dirt Cheap Yet Gets The Job Done. It is extraordinarily difficult to get Diane to agree to be reimbursed for the many things she’s done on Mom’s behalf.

The poem refers to a “passe-partout.” A Passe-Partout is a key that will get you through any door. I have barely scratched the surface of all the doors Diane has opened along her journey. She is an incredible survivor, and beloved by many.

My Amazing and Heroic Aunt Diane

Matriarch and Uber-Mama
Youngster (in your 60s)–you
Are like noodles of Top Ramen
Much like Heaven/passe-partout
And your Deeds are truly Legend
Zapping Evil Right and Left. I
Illustrate your fine Agenda
Nipping-budding Waste & Theft. In
Grace nigh-Wiccan Pitch & Blende

 

2019 1215 athwart 01

First appeared, slightly altered, in the Facebook group Poets All Call, on December 8, 2019.

athwart

a career path
a ladder climb
a dog-eating claw to the top
a goose-stepping march to world domination

is a progression that comes soon or late
to lucifer’s defiant attempt to unseat
the Almighty

and so we come to the insight
gained by viewing the progression
OF progression

ambition to competition to acquisition
and they are toxic when concentrated
when focused like a magnifying lens
redirecting the sun’s rays

mussolini was a bullyboy buffoon
pol pot a whack-a-mole murderer
george armstrong custer a backstabbing butcher

and donald son of fred
is a dream-perverting pipsqueak
is a crazed captain bligh
misleading the ship of state
athwart of mercy and decency

the history of conquest is stained
with the doings of soulless thugs
and in this latest chapter
a mob has been seduced and gathered

crush it we cannot: we become mobsters
resist we must
yet the nature of the resistance
must not run athwart
of our decent american souls

the decent american soul
the rebuilder of cities
the feeder of the starving
the welcoming lamplifter
is a shivering weakened flame now
yet subflames are in each of us
and may be brought ablaze
with the championing of Truth
and Justice

love enemies
that they may cease to be

20191215_083034

Last Monday I had a rugged conversation with my apartment and thereafter resolved to do massive cleanup. It has been slow and unsteady going, as my apartment knew it would be. But this morning I’m putting in another slug of work.

The drawer in the kitchen to the right of the sink is now relieved of about three pounds of American coin, with an estimated value of $35 or so. About half of the value is in the dimes. They and the other coins now rest in nested vessels I made this year.

Also in the drawer was a treasured keepsake, an inscribed pocket watch, gift of my high school and college sweetheart. The inscription reads GARY/”YOU’VE GOT A FRIEND.”/LOVE GAYLE/1974. Forty-five years ago we were SO young and SO much in love, and ” You’ve Got a Friend” was our song. That was about five lifetimes ago.

The heartbeat goes on. After I do the dishes I’ll bag all but the quarters up (quarters are for laundry) and casb them in at Fry’s, a local grocery store, and buy toilet paper, coffee, coffee additive, and disposable razor blades with some of the proceeds.

After that, in the catchy words of my former classmate and co-conspirator and friend Charles Goss, “I have no plans for the rest of my life.” Except to sculpt, smile, work, and look for love. 🙂

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Some time last month the eminent Slam Poet Bernard “The Klute” Schober reached out to me via text, inviting me to collaborate with him yet again. He’d written a new poem based on a maritime incident that to this day is enshrouded in mystery. Would I care to try an illustration?

So I read the poem, and pondered it, and read it to my ex-wife Joni and daughter Kate, and got input from them, and pondered some more, and then tried my hand at “concept rough” sketching. And I bombed. My sketching captured NONE of the essence of the poem, and was lackluster and confusing to boot. More sketching didn’t help.

Then I got the lightbulb. SKETCHING was the wrong approach to this visceral, gutslamming piece. Try SCULPTING. See what happens.

What happened is what you see. It is not the final version of the image, which will involve apparatus and Morse Code, but it is the essence. Today I’ll do more ceramic sculpting, not with the trepidation that went with the sketching, but with the confidence and “high”ness of someone who has found the right track.

The moral of this creative-process story is “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again, but try a different approach.”

Please stay tuned!

20191205_161428

Today Dez the Manager said, “Hey, Sunshine, guess what I’ve got for you.” (Dez calls everyone Sunshine the way  that gal in KING OF THE HILL called everyone, including God, “Shoog,” short for Sugar.)  “I have no idea,” I told Dez, but I should have, because last month she said I’d soon get an envelope of appreciation for four years of employment with SSP. So we took a picture, and Dez was nice enough to hunker down enough so that I appear taller than she is.

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Here we are, Dez looking like what Kellyanne Conway wishes SHE looked like, and I looking like a Macy’s Parade balloon that flew too close to the ground.

It’s a strange world, Friends, and I’m glad I’m here.

20191202_144252

Before December 3rd, 2012, I had set a monthly reminder to start a blog. Month after month the reminder would pop up and I just wouldn’t have the oomph to get on to a blog-posting site. But on 3/12/2012 I oomphed–and it was ridiculously easy to set up my blog. I wrote and posted “The Great Gettin’ Up Morning” while it was still morning, and the rest is history–recorded history. One thousand, four hundred and sixty-one little explorations. Seems like a lot, but I feel like I only scratched the surface. On the other hand, it will give a viewer–you, for instance–a good idea of who I am and what I stand for, and against. Love and loss is in plenitude here, as are the pinnacles and chasms of the creative process. And suffusing the entire seven-year journey is a celebration of Friendship. I have many treasured friends. I met some of them as a direct result of this blog–Jen, Michel, Tiffany, Marta, Shawn, Jamie, G. E., Alf, “kwiksand”, Chantal–perhaps YOU reading this now–thank you all. I toast you with my Eggnog.

20191201_233641

Friends, this is done in haste. I hope to edit at leisure.

It is the First of December. I’m hoping to end some bad habits and form good ones by the end of the year. Accordingly, because I had the opportunity, I began a walk pre-dawn that ended with the Sun high in the sky. It is a fine way to start a day.

 

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Here are two vessels that I made, some coffee in the smaller one, and “The Original Decadent Salted Caramel Bar,” which is only 210 calories per bar, but 1,680 calories if you have all 8, which I did, in a mere 9-1/2 hours, mostly last evening, with the last one left over for breakfast.

 

“Lord have mercy on me, a sinner.” That is what is inscribed on the larger vessel. I am practicing ersatz stonecutting for the sake of the urn I will make that will house my late brother Brian’s ashes. When I read from the New Testament at the urging of a college roommate of mine more than 40 years ago, the story of the bigshot who thought he was praying but instead was bragging about his accomplishments, compared to a truly humbled and penitent soul TRULY praying by saying these simple words. struck me as the heart of the matter. I have said this prayer dozens of times, fingers interlaced, in the last 40 years, though to me it’s a “message in a bottle” prayer that may not be heard. And “Lord” seems to be shorthand for “Whatever makes and sustains us.”

But to my brother Brian the  words needed no analogizing. He was a Christian through and through, including humility. The words fit him.

Most likely, though, other words will be on Brian’s urn– something like WITHINâ—‡THISâ—‡VESSELâ—‡AREâ—‡THEâ—‡EARTHLYâ—‡REMAINSâ—‡OFâ—‡BRIANâ—‡CLEMENSâ—‡BOWERSâ—‡1957-2018â—‡BELOVÉD SONâ—‡BROTHERâ—‡UNCLEâ—‡HUSBANDâ—‡NEPHEWâ—‡COUSINâ—‡OUTLAWâ—‡REQUIESCATâ—‡INâ—‡PACE. As I imagine it, these words will wrap around and around the vessel, which will be placed on a rotatable platform. Of course I will ask my family to review and evaluate a prototype before I proceed.

Sincere and humble thanks to whatever creates and sustains us.

 

2019 1118 terry irwin

In December of 1967 Terry Carter, my classmate, was at the school dance wearing a shimmery silver dress. We danced either once, twice, or three times–I have memory issues now. The important thing is, we danced.

J.R.R. Tolkien, author of THE LORD OF THE RINGS, also wrote “Smith of Wootten Major.” His protagonist, a blacksmith with an enchanted star on his brow, made a journey through the land of Faery. Along the way he met a delightful, young-yet-ageless woman who ended up dancing with him. Before they parted company she told him to convey a message to Alf the Prentice: “The time has come. Let him choose.” Only after Smith, also known as Starbrow, completed his journey and delivered the message did he learn with whom he had danced.

So it is with Terry, so similar to the Faery girl. She hides her light under a bushel. She would rather I didn’t sing her praises. Yet I must.

Terry Irwin

TERRIFIC as a pre-dawn’s Hi
ENGAGING as a 3rd-act Sigh–her
Righteous WISDOM’s clear–and how
Refreshing as is Maui–Wow–I
Y•o•d•e•l as she earns Renown