Sunday, January 29, 2006

Black Sunday

I've been a football fan for oh let's see ... two weeks now.
And even though my hometown team is, for the first time ever, playing in the Super Bowl next week, I'm finding this obligatory dry weekend between the end of the playoffs and the big game itself surprisingly depressing.

For the more than the twenty years of our marriage, my high-school- football- star husband has been slowly, patiently building a case for the sport. Oh, I've resisted alright. Until a few years ago; when he actually got me seated in front of the TV during a game. I was utterly impressed with the depth of the game. I'd had no idea it was so complex. But still, who could give up a few hours to watch a sport on TV? Even my beloved baseball is relegated to the radio, so I can get other things done while keeping up with my boys of summer.

But today, on this gray, rainy Seattle day, nothing sounds better than a few hours splayed out on the couch, in front of the tube with good ol' #20.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Happiness Is ... volume I

....reaching into the pocket of the sweater you haven't worn for two weeks and finding twelve dollars and your missing driver's license.

....a husband who brings you coffee in bed and makes the kids' lunches when you've been up all night writing.

.... track #2 on The Traveling Wilburys (Vol 1) played so loud on the car stereo you can feel the drum beating right in your gut.

....driving in the car without the kids so you can play the Wilburys.

....dropping your head on the pillow with such enormous fatigue that even your loud- music loving muse won't be able to wake you up.

Good-bye Jules, Hello Blog

Nixon occupied the White House when I was a kid.
Growing up with parents who voted for him meant that, in their eyes, he was fine, just fine.
I don't hold it against them. I felt and feel the same way about Clinton.

When Nixon left office, my mother wore the shame that one wears when a close relative has disgraced himself. Parentally devoted as I was at the time, I had no choice but to believe in old Tricky Dick.
Then as now, politics weren't my thing. The pop culture surrounding our pundits and politicos? Now those are some good times.
Logically, I was fascinated with the first daughter, Julie Nixon Eisenhower.
She was 21 and a newlywed when her father was elected. I was 8 and in second grade.
I thought she was so cool.
Smart, savvy and cool.

Something I read at the time, probably Beverly Cleary but maybe Laura Ingalls Wilder, caused me to start a journal. I found it hard to just write without writing to someone. When I confessed this a year later to my third grade teacher, she encouraged me to write as if I were writing to
someone.
Logically, I chose Julie.

And so it began:
Dear Julie, Jan Johnson said I stole her flute. Why would she say such a thing? I'm no thief ...
Dear Julie, My big sister got married today. I'm so happy for her!
Dear Julie, We're going on a trip! We're driving to Kentucky and I get to meet my grandma and grandpa!

It was good fun, but eventually, I dispensed with the pen and paper and began composing in my head; far easier to think the words than to write them. Any conundrum, observation, frustration, or brilliant idea that arose over the next 30 years was simply spun around quietly in my precious and private little mind, for better or for worse.
Until now.
Now I have the Bon Blog, for better or for worse.

So, farewell to you Ms. Eisenhower.
I'm all grown up and moving on to better modes.

It's time for you to go now.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Newhart, Teary Heart

There's something you should know before you read on.
I cry easily.
At odd times and without warning.
Remember the Ma Bell commercial about the college freshman away from home for the first time? Every single time I watched that silly, sixty second melodrama I reluctantly produced tears.

Did you cry when you saw The Incredibles? I did; even the third viewing.

One of my more impressive moments came late one night a few years back. My husband and I stumbled upon the final moments of Out of Africa. You know the part where Robert Redford's plane doesn't appear in the sky and Meryl Streep knows she's lost the only man she could ever love? That part? Swear to God, although we'd just tuned in, and I'd seen none of the emotional build-up scenes that directors use to tug the viewers heart strings, I was bawling, you guessed it, like a baby.

The tears come at other times too. Notably, during sex. I'm more selective here. It's not the everyday poke that leaves me with streaked cheeks. Make no mistake, I'm not talking about making love, I'm talking about the exquisite, soul searing stuff. Yep, that’ll put tears on my pillow too.

Exquisite people can release the tears as well.
It's a kind of barometer, I guess.
The director of my daughter's school, a genius when it comes to the education of children and adolescents, can utter the most precise observation about our youth and there I'll be, looking like an idiot crying, while the other, intelligent parents are asking insightful questions.

When I met Bonnie Raitt, I could barely say hello for the tears that were welling up. The Rodin exhibit we saw last summer. Well, most art museums really. No, I won't go there. Suffice it to say; when I go to art I've got to have an arsenal of tissue in my tote.

And it was just that, a small package of Kleenex that sat in my lap as Bob Newhart took the stage at Benaroya Hall last night. Good thing it was there too. Although I'd planned for tears of laughter, I never would have guessed that this (apparently exquisite) comedian would get me started. The crowd was applauding appreciatively, he was beaming his infectious smile and my emotions were welling up inside of me and streaming right down my cheeks.As it turns out, he's been performing since 1964; the year after my birth. He was a favorite of my mother’s, and has been in my conscience for as long as I can remember.
No wonder.
As I mopped up, Newhart easily, quietly slipped into his repertoire. Thankful of course, to be back in the Seattle, he recalled moments before his career began while he was stationed here during the Korean War.
Did you know the National Guard was once called upon to combat the mounting snow levels at Mt Rainier? “It didn’t go well; the rocket launchers entirely missed their looming target.” Big Laugh. “Perhaps they should have practiced on something bigger – say the Pacific Ocean.” Bigger laugh.

And so the next ninety minutes went: he recalling jokes and events from his past, we laughing, laughing, laughing.

Was it funny? Yes.
Was it fresh? Not really; except that like others of his era, he didn’t jab the administration, use obscenities or even one dally in “bedroom talk.”

Did I ever use my Kleenex to wipe away the tears of laughter?
No. Not until the encore, when he finally got out his famous “phone bit.”
And then I laughed so hard I cried.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

My Inauguration?

January 21, 2006.
Who knew today would have any sort of meaning at all.
I woke up with words in my head, wrote them down, sent them off to a friend and now look where I've ended up. My own blog.

Unlike the the reams of words spewed at presidential inaugurations, in my inaugural blog I'm promising nothing ....except perhaps, a few laughs, a bit of introspection and a unique view of our interesting little corner of the world.
As I write on, my voice will evolve and perhaps even become evident. Maybe it will hold the interest of the reader, maybe not. I'll try to keep my entries brief, but like I said before, I'm guaranteeing nothing.

In closing, I wish to thank my supporters, you know who you are. Thank-you ... more than I can ever express, thank you. And to Jim, I thank you for the title of this here blog. As usual, your concise eloquence was right on the mark. Thank you.
~bon