Illiterations: Laughing At My Own Expense

Lake Kesar This is part 2 of my short story, "I'll see you in the Fall."  If you read the first installment, you learned about my struggles in my first year at UC Davis, and about how I came to meet my friends, Bailey and Phyllis.  Here is the next installment; Part 2. ======  Continued from Part 1 ====== I'll see you in the Fall -- -  by Nikki Holmes, ©️ 2002, 2018 The next time we had class, I waited for Bailey, and it was apparent that she knew I would.   She said, “I asked my friend Liz to meet us at the corner of the quad so she can take the pack from there.   We have that class together.” “Cool,” I answered.   As we walked and talked, I heard about her life before Davis.   She was not a Freshman, but was actually a sophomore who’d come to Davis directly from high school; no stops at junior college in between.   So, I figured her age at about 19 or 20, and in my head, I dreaded the day that she might ask me my age.   I assumed that would be whe

This story unfolded for me at UC Davis, over the years I was there; basically late 1992 through early 1995.  My experiences at the university were absolutely the most life-changing and shaping ones of my life. I hope you'll bear with me for this story.  It means a lot to me, but it is too long for one blog post.  In it, you'll find there are characters; people I know and love.  Most of all, as I re-read this story for the fist time in a long while this evening, I am taken all the way back to 26 years ago, when I began as a full-time student a UC Davis.  I hope that it an transport you, too. I’ll See You In the Fall   - by Nikki Holmes, ©️ 2002, 2018 By the time I arrived at UC Davis, I’d been a student again for about three years.  Returning to college at the age of 28 held both perks and drawbacks.  At Davis, I worried about being viewed as ‘old’–I was 31 when I started my first full-time quarter there–and I wondered if I could keep up with the competitive pop

The reusable grocery bag law that was enacted in California recently is working.  Almost.  I want to see that it is, and, at first, I thought I really saw only success. But, we have failings, and loopholes.  My population of data for this hypothesis and conclusions drawn is limited, because I only go where I go.  I don't go everywhere in the state.  Still, here are my carefully thought-out conclusions after observing people (a thing I love to do anyway) and also my own habits and experiences, and those of friends and family. First off, some people are really just buying heavy duty, made to be reused bags and can't be bothered to bring in ones they have had before.  When I first started seeing people doing that, I noted who it seemed to be.  Based on my observations, it's most often men who appear to be in their 20's and/or 30's, and appear to be single based on whatever evidence I could gather: no wedding ring; products purchased; etc.  Yes, true, I must make

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