Poem and musings on parents

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
   They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
   And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
   By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
   And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
   It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
   And don't have any kids yourself.

--Philip Larkin (1974)

Disclaimer: This poem is not at all how I feel about my own parents, who are wonderful people and whom I love very much.

I was actually doing a lot of thinking about my parents the other day. Driving up to school, "Loves Me Like a Rock" came on my iPod, and I started to think about how incredibly amazing and lifechanging it is to have parents who really love and support you. It lets me know I can do anything I set my mind to, and there will always be someone who thinks I'm worthwhile.

Of course, if you have the wrong mindset, this could also be a Bad Thing™

If I was President
And the Congress call my name
I'd say "who do ...
Who do you think you're fooling?"
I've got the Presidential Seal
I'm up on the Presidential Podium
My mama loves me

This actually may explain a great deal about US foreign and domestic policy these days.

Later that day, I ran into an old friend from the high school days, P. Last time I saw P, we were in the throes of a rather ungraceful (at least on my part) transition into young adulthood. A decade later, I recognize him coming down the sidewalk and it turns out he's a history teacher now. Hey, cool, history teacher! We chatted a bit and as I headed on, I realized - he and I both work for the same people our parents do, now. So much for adolescent rebellion.

It must have been some kind of an all-parent day, because after running into P, with Paul Simon still in my head, I hopped into my car and headed into Berkeley to meet my folks for dinner. It's a wonderful thing, being friends with your parents. I mean, we still have a bit of the parent/child dynamic going on and always will - but I can talk to them, and they're often the first people I call in emotional crisis. My Mom rolls her eyes a bit at some of my enthusiasms, and my Dad worries about me a little, but mostly it's just damn good to see them, every time. I'm a lucky girl.

Lucky, lucky, lucky.

Easter Math

So Peeps™ were on sale at the grocery store yesterday, a box of 20 for $0.64 US. There's something compelling about a Peep™ to me - like Cadbury's Creme Eggs™, they are incredibly gross, and yet I feel myself drawn to them once a year, to their crunchy neon sugar skins and their gooey marshmallow guts. It's like a temporary Easter madness.

In short, I bought three boxes.

Not that I am going to eat three boxes of Peeps™. They are just sort of nice to have around. Comforting. And fun to share, too, because nobody really wants them, and yet everyone takes them, and in college once we ate the backs off a flotilla of Peeps™ Chicks (Peeps™ is the family, which contains a multitude of species, including Chicks and Bunnies) and stuck them to an unsuspecting housemate's door. Took forever to get them off once we'd had our laughs; Peeps™ are tenacious.

In any case . . . last night, I ate two of the Peeps™ before bed. And since I am trying to fit back into my @#$%^&*! wedding dress, I checked to see how far (calorically) two Peeps™ might set a girl back.

The "serving size" for Peeps™ is FOUR.
Four Peeps™ are approximately 130 calories of fat-free candy nasty.
And, of course, I instantly translated that into "beer units" - the number of beers one might consume for an equal amount of calories.
Four Peeps™ are roughly equal to one beer.

Therefore, I concluded, you'd have to eat a whole damn box of the things to get drunk.

Happy belated Easter.

Happy National Poetry Month!

Mary Oliver, "Wild Geese"

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.