Illiterations: Laughing At My Own Expense

A poem I wrote when I felt lost; written on February 21, 1994. I do not feel lost now.  But I do see the horizon, and it's evening time. ==== Hello again, my old friend; the inner me i've come to see and find, i hope, some solice here, the world 'round me's become so queer. Self of mine one more time lead me from this confused night lead me back into the light. © N Holmes, 1994, 2018.

Alice, me, and King, at Irish Ridge Ranch.  1975. I am always tickled when my attention is directed to a very old photo of me with a friend.  Whether the friend is human or fur-person, it's always a sweet surprise and reminder. My long-time friend, Alice, became my friend when we were both lonely kids in our class at parochial school.  I know I was seven when I first met Alice--soon to be eight, it was third grade--and our teacher, Madame Minot, put us together because I was the new kid, and Alice (I suspect) just ended up the odd kid out that day.  But, it was a gift of inspiration that was to become a life-long blessing.  Thank you, Madame Minot. Today, Alice happened to be re-posting blurry copies of our horse-days.  Maybe, come to think of it, it was that Mrs. Minot somehow knew we were both horse-crazy little girls.  Anyway, we most certainly were!  Alice's posts are of ever-dwindling photographic quality (she keeps recopying them over and over, it appears) and y

Hey there, my readers.  I know I am no literary powerhouse, nor Shakespearean poet.  My blog, this blog, is here to test me.  To demand to myself that I be accountable.  To test my boundaries.  To stick my neck out and take risks.  Of course I could risk more.  I could also risk a lot less. I received some feedback rather anonymously that I come across as "...[trying to show how]  smart you are and how much you know about most all subjects to the degree that others become beneath you and you become condescending." The commenter goes on to say, " It’s hard to take even for the toughest of us." I hope I can chat about this here, and not offend you. But, since "You," are not known to me, how could I offend you? I don't even know, unless you tell me by commenting, that "You" are reading this blog. My readers, you are anonymous to me, while I am completely exposed to you. Ignoring the fact that the commenter can't know who all

It's been a bumpy week, but lots of good things as well as a few stressful things are going on.  Lifting my head from the grind, I realize we have hardly been able to enjoy our little Jolie Ete' very many weekends this entire season.  Before the days get cooler with no looking back, we will head there and decompress.  Sleep without angst.  Laze and bask. So many things have swirled up for me this past few weeks, and for my husband, who is a pretending retired guy, not so much I think, as he lets me worry about and manage all things financial.  He sounds my ideas, adds his own, and we create and modify in that way. Many things big and small, are on our horizon.  Still, tonight, we will party with the other houseboat lovers as the marina celebrates the end of the season with food, drink, and a live band.  We will walk our favorite lake beaches and swim with the doggies, and wake up and make dark, rich, perfect coffee in our Melitta drip filter.  We'll savor scrambled

Bill Dailey, a beloved supporting actor from two shows from the 1960's and 1970's, passed away a few days ago.  He was 91.  I remember him in his roles as both Major Healy from the show "I Dream of Jeannie" and as airline navigator Howard Borden in "The Bob Newhart Show." When a public figure passes, we hear of it, and think back to the things in our own minds or lives that trigger any sort of memory, feeling, recognition, etc.  I find that I feel sad when I hear of one of these public figures passing.  They came into my home nearly every day of my childhood.  They made me laugh, perhaps even inspired me to retell their silliness to friends or at the dinner table. What eventually happens is that as I follow my daydreams back to those childhood moments, I'm back in our play room in our house in Portola Valley.  I'm feeling the rough loops of the budget indoor-outdoor carpet that I'm sure my father chose for that room because it was

Not everybody enjoys poetry.  Some prefer to write their own, others read it.  For me, it's always just been about catharsis.  Below is one of mine.  It's not new, but was written at a time when I was remolding my life.  Nothing was not  in flux.  I was "playing the field," mainly because I was surrounded by many people a lot younger than me, and not in a serious-relationship frame of mind. The Horse Moon   © Nikki (Nicola) Holmes, 1994, 2018 (originally penned October 1994) Breath burning nose, knee howling, 'The rain has stopped! The rain has stopped!' Soft click of bicycle in a coast whisks ride by. Snapshots   of you in the light of a quarter moon strobe through my brain;   pan across my eyes. Bridle slung over arm,   riding boots in toe clips; you--blue-edged silhouette   moon over your shoulder. Sting of salt,  sweat in barb-wire scratches,   little grains of troublesome words. Gentle rocking of walk, staccato trot,   well-pa

Where were you?  The moment you saw the Twin Towers under siege; that you realized that they were going to collapse? We all have a memory.  It's seared in to the memory of most people over the age of 23.  For those of us who were grown, or old enough to really understand the magnitude of the tragedy and the attack, we never do forget.  This day comes each year, and we remember all over again.  As we should, in my mind. I, personally, really try to avoid scheduling anything significant on this date.  I do not want to have a happy, or successful, or celebratory event that will overlay the remembrance of the loss of this date 17 years ago. I was preparing to be in court that day.  Not just any court, but Federal Court, in the Federal Building, in downtown Sacramento.  The reasons are so irrelevant, but the memory stays with me because I literally sat down, as soon as I saw what was happening, and decided not to go.  Before I ever really knew what was going on across the count

I recently read somewhere that (the author's point of view was) change and transformation differ thus: Change relies upon a comparison with the past to define itself.  Transformation, by definition, is forward looking.  Or, at the very least, present-centered.  In the context of what I was reading, you'll guess, the comment was relating to "the self." So, I'm still letting this percolate because I like it.  I think the statements are obvious, but I hadn't looked at it framed this way before.  I mean, self change; self-awareness; are such vast subjects, one could choose a different component of that broad topic every month for a lifetime. I'm not digging deeply into change and transformation at the moment.  I'm pretty happy with where I am.  Still, I've got "stuff" I always work on, and new stuff happens to me--happens to all of us-- every day.  Even framing it as "happens to me" is a separate topic because it throws

When I was in college, I did a substantial amount of writing.  No, not for my profs, though, yes, that as well.  I mean, my own writing.  I explored the first experiences of dealing with some of life's most difficult blows.  In college, I was married, and divorced, and diagnosed with a learning "disability" that challenged my succeeding at earning my engineering degree.  I also lost a friend while in college, had a house fire, and had to put my 14 year old dog to sleep.  I did succeed in graduating, I'm proud to say.  This was all in the space of five and one half years. I would really like to share some of my short stories on this blog, as most have not seen the light of day.  Some, however, are too... risque' I would say.  I am not yet prepared to "release the hounds" of my darker side.  My very dear friend Karen and her alter ego, Layla Wolfe would laugh heartily to think that I was blushing on my own writings.  Still... My search continues fo

It's a well documented fact that dogs who fixate on their toys, often balls or another item to be retrieved, are exhibiting what we call in humans, "Obsessive Compulsive Disorder" behavior, or OCD.  It's not necessarily referred to that by all dog training professionals, but it does amount to it.  It's also a well-documented fact that when a group of dogs gathers, particularly a group whose members aren't well acquainted, or where the pack members are changing (as in a dog park setting), that there is continuous social ordering among the group as members encounter each other.  How a pair of dogs engage is influenced by whether or not a third or subsequent dog is also part of the meeting, among other factors. Two dogs may acquaint themselves well, yet might express tension with a third dog present.  Dogs are pack animals and predators.  They are evolutionarily programmed to order their social groups in such a way that the pack will be at its healthiest

Men eating lunch on a skyscraper, 1932.  Photo by Charles Ebbets We take this day every year to enjoy a day not toiling, in honor of the American laborer.  In the era of the movement, it was a reflection that the laborer made all things great, or greater, in America. You might think it was in the time when we were pushing to build after the Great Depression; when corporations rose and became strong through their labor forces; skyscrapers climbed taller than most had ever dreamed by laying on strong laborers in their blue shirts; of the era when banks of PBX boards and women in headphones sat in the back offices of those same corporations directing calls, and taking messages. Actually, it was first made a holiday in 1894, just a year after the first American gasoline powered automobile was built, and a year before that same car won the first American car race. I personally try to take this weekend off each year, but, without delving into my business, that is not always as eas