CRYSTALLINE

Once, I was a stone.
Simply shaped,
Dipped in earth tones—
Common.
Yet foundations were built
On the strength of my shoulders.
A lifetime of days
Has etched my surface
Left me lined and faceted—
Peculiar.
What was stone turned to glass,
And therein lies my secret:
Handled carelessly, I’m
Likely to break—
Fragile.
But when caught
In the sun’s rays,
Oh, how I shine!

~lisa

FIFTEEN THINGS THAT SCARE A WOMAN

My father was a man.  My brothers are men.  I’ve been married to a man for nearly 30 years, and I spawned a male child.

No one gets out of here alive.

If through no means other than association, one might think I’d have come to understand men quite well by now.   Truth be told, however, my knowledge regarding those of the male gland can be summed up in two statements:

1.  In Man World, something is fun only if it a) makes noise, b) hurts, or c) smells bad.

2.  The basic difference between men and women is this:  Women wear black because it’s versatile, slimming, ageless, seasonless, sexy, and classic; men wear black because they think it’s navy blue.

Sensing many women might be lacking even the slightest comprehension of what goes on in the male mind, a popular men’s magazine offered to shed some light on the subject.   The article’s author, himself a man, claimed there are 15 basic fears harbored by all men.  They are:

*Hair in the drain (going bald)
*Getting caught noticing another woman
*Rejection
*Super Nanny
*Speedos
*His father’s death
*Her tears
*Being a lousy lover
*Not being a god to his kids
*Living paycheck to paycheck
*Beautiful women
*Getting naked
*Tofurky
*Not seeing his kids grow up
*Public humiliation

Wow—that’s a pretty daunting list.  Who knew men bore the burden of so many insecurities?  But I sincerely appreciate the writer’s effort to educate us women, and it only seems fair to return the favor.   So what scares a woman?  Here, in no particular order and compiled by me and my research department (the women I eat lunch with), is a partial list:

*How we look first thing in the morning  No matter how alluring she appeared or felt the night before, a woman dreads her early morning visage.  Greasy hair, puffy eyes, blotchy complexion, sour breath . . . intensify those charms with a bladder loaded for bear and the result is something we’d rather you not see.  That’s one reason many women aren’t interested in early morning romance . . . who can feel sexy in that condition?  Besides, there’s vulnerability in letting him see you in such a raw state.  That’s something we’d rather save for later in the relationship, such as when we’re in the delivery room giving birth to his baby.

*His silence  It’s no secret many women like to talk out their problems.  It’s a system that’s worked for us since the dawn of time, and we see no reason to change.  But in a cruel joke, the goddess created many men who prefer to suffer in silence.  They disappear to the privacy of the den or workshop to stew and putter, leaving us to wonder why we can’t just talk about it.  Oh, we know our men are just cooling off and allowing time for things to smooth over.  So what are we afraid of?  We’re afraid that in all that silence he’s contemplating a breakup or secretly wishing we would come and fix things with just the right words.   We’re afraid because that silence of his can be deafening.

*Hair issues  For women, hair is the source of endless drama.  The hair on a woman’s head is her crowning glory, and her body hair a lifelong enemy.  A man’s fear of going bald is nothing next to a woman’s; at least society accepts a bald man.  In fact, men as varied as Yul Brynner, Andre Agassi, Billy Zane, Michael Jordan, Vin Diesel, Patrick Stewart, and Cal Ripken Jr. have proven they can be attractive even without hair.  A woman, however, can never have too much hair on her head.  On the other hand, the shadow of a moustache is like the kiss of death.  Hair on your toes?  Ugh.  No, from the time a girl enters puberty she will shave, sugar, and depilate.  She’ll submit to the stinging electrolysis and the painful bikini wax—even the full Brazilian wax job.   Hair scares us.  We’re scared to lose it from our heads and grow it on our bodies.  Either situation is a self-image crisis!

*Bra or swimsuit shopping  Nothing make a woman feel less secure about herself than stepping into a harshly lit dressing room with an armload of garments designed by sadists to make her feel lumpy and inadequate.  She just knows it’s going to end badly.

*Our own girly bits  Those appendages and accoutrements which make us female are so prone to breakdown and malfunction an entire medical specialty is devoted to keeping our stuff up and running.  One body part or another is always developing a suspicious lump or oozing an unpleasant discharge.  Mammograms, pap smears, D & C’s, steel stirrups, cold specula . . . all scary stuff.  But not as scary as what could happen if we don’t submit to these uncomfortable but necessary health care procedures.

*The Other Woman  She’s around every corner, she’s waiting at every social event, she’s the new hire at your husband’s office, she’s someone you’ve known for years.  She’s out there, and she’s waiting to take him away from you.  And if you and your man are in your forties, you can bet she’ll be half your age.  The bitch.

*Guy stuff  We’re smart.  We’re employable.  We’re accomplished.  We’re worldly.  But many of us feel downright stupid when you start talking about earned run averages and single malt whiskeys.  We can’t name our favorite historical battle, can’t rattle off who was named MVP of Super Bowl Whatever, or tell what car was first to use an electrical ignition system.  We can’t recite the plot of The Dirty Dozen or prove the best way to defend ourselves during a zombie attack.   What really scares us is that you can.

*Ruined relationships  A woman’s world is defined by relationships, and leaving a trail of fractured friendships, broken romances, and estranged family members is a sign of failure.  Oh, we know it’s not possible, or even desirable, to get along with everyone all the time.  But since conflict resolution and comfort giving are seen primarily as feminine traits, something must be wrong with a woman who’s followed through life by a wake of hard feelings.

*Finding purpose  The path of our foremothers was predetermined.  They reached puberty, got married, managed a home, and reared however many children nature chose to send.  It was hard work, but it was in the cards for just about every woman.  Nowadays, women struggle to find meaningful careers and balance them with the demands of their personal lives.  Yes, we know men have always wrestled with job stress and God bless them for it.  But culturally speaking, the whole thing’s still rather new for our gender, and the thought of never meeting our destiny is scary!  Plus, guys, you have to admit no one ever argued that the fall of the American family can be blamed on the emergence of working fathers.  That’s a heavy thing to lay on us.,

*Ultimate Fighting Championships  This is a concept so scary to women, most of us lack the words to describe our aversion.   Can there be any doubt this debacle was some man’s idea of fun?

*Getting naked  Most women enjoy a relatively narrow window of comfort for getting naked in front of someone else.  It’s likely to be soon after our 19^th birthday, perhaps between 7 and 8 pm on a Tuesday.  That’s about it.  The rest of the time, the thought of letting another human being—especially a male human being with amorous intentions—see us in the altogether can be extremely disconcerting.  We’re painfully aware of our flaws (even the ones invisible to others), and usually prefer to keep them hidden by clothing or dimmed lights.

*Gravity  As the saying goes, Rome fell and one day, Honey, so will you.  After the age of 28 or childbirth, whichever comes first, nothing on a woman stays in its original location.  Our eyelids, jowls, breasts, bellies, butts, and knees all start to sag in what can only be explained as a terrible design flaw.  And since we can’t all pay to have our droopy parts relocated, the fear of gravity and its effects contributes heavily to the previously mentioned fear of getting naked, and to the next item on our list.

*The gift of lingerie  Unless she happens to be within that previously mentioned narrow window of comfort for getting naked in front of another person, nearly every woman cringes at the thought of opening a gift from her man to find some lacy, transparent, completely impractical garment.   Yes, we know it’s the thought that counts.  Yes, we know in his own way he’s trying to be flattering.  But good lord, does he really expect us to strap on that silly deal he found at Skanky Ho’s “R” Us?  And does he think that when we do, we’ll look like the woman he saw in the Victoria’s Secret catalog or perform like the one he saw in a porn movie?  Does he realize we’re going to feel like a right fool when our non-surgically-enhanced, non-airbrushed parts are flopping around with nothing to support them but a couple of pasties and a few , strategically placed lengths of floss?  Now that’s scary!

*Sex  OK, this one’s a wash.  I don’t think either gender holds a monopoly on bedroom insecurities.  Everyone suffers from performance anxiety, no one wants to pale against the memory of a former lover.  Life would be easier if we’d just cut each other a break, but because we’re humans that’s not like to happen any time soon.

*The whole mother thing  This is it:  the big ticket item, the whole package.  Motherhood is the queen of all womanly fears.  It represents the biological purpose of being female, and is at the core of our most intense human connections.  And a woman doesn’t even have to be a mother to experience mother-related drama.  There’s the fear of his mother.  Deep inside, women are afraid they will never measure up to the woman who raised him—especially in his eyes!  Then there’s the fear of becoming your mother.  That fear has nothing to do with love.  Even a woman who idolizes her own mother will die a little on the day she looks in the mirror and sees her mother’s face, opens her mouth utters her mother’s favorite platitude, or realizes she just bought a handbag that would look at home on her mother’s arm.

Becoming a mother affects each and every aspect of a woman’s life until the day she dies.  What’s there to be frightened about?  Motherhood is beautiful and natural, right?  The fear is of not knowing how to be a mother!  What if I don’t bond with my baby? What if I’m too strict or too permissive?  What I have no more sense than God gave a goose when it comes to parenting and I ruin this perfect little heaven-sent angel?  Being a mother, even a first time mother, is supposed to magically transform a woman.  What if it doesn’t happen?  What if motherhood swallows up my relationship with the man I love?

So there you have it: fifteen things that can scare the bejeezuz out of even the strongest, most capable woman.  My crack team of researchers and I invite your comments.  What have we misjudged?  What have we left out?  What scares a woman?

SCARY DREAM

She feels the pull of four heavy horses,
One tethered to each trembling limb.
With great, cup-shaped hooves they paw the dirt
And quivering, await the signal—
The signal to begin her ending.

Still as a photograph, she lies awake
Willing her molecules to cling together
—Please God, just a little while longer—
As she tries to conjure the music
That will calm these wild-eyed, heaving beasts

Threatening to tear her piece by piece,
Straining at twisted harnesses of
Fear, mistrust, anger, and bitter regret.
Already her seams are starting to fray;
Already her edges begin to blur. . .

How did this nightmare come to be
From childhood dreams of sun-dappled afternoons
And pony rides on sleepy, sway-backed roans?
She could swing so high her toes touched the clouds—
But the return to earth is cold and dark as blood.

Steady, she begs her body, steady now
And counts the long moments between each breath
—IN   two… three… four; OUT   six… seven… eight—
Her eyes are shut tightly against tears,
But her mouth still echoes bile and Prozac.

A few hours more and daylight will come,
Her fists will uncurl, the horses will stand down;
Reduced to nothing more than vapor
And the wish that tonight’s slumber might be
Accompanied not by a dirge, but a lullaby.

~lisa

FIVE TOTALLY BAD ASS CAT BREEDS

Go ahead and LOL. You know you want to.

Thanks to the magic of the internet, cats are cool.  Of course, cat lovers knew this long before our feline friends had the world LOLing with cheezburgerz and invisible sports equipment.

Pop quiz:  What’s your favorite cat breed?  Stumped?  That’s because surveys show that while most people can identify dozens of dog breeds and list their favorites, when asked to name cat breeds those same people respond with an astonished, “Wait. . .cats have breeds?”

The answer is yes.  Yes they do, and I’m offering to make sure you don’t look like a hopeless wang the next time you’re caught in the crossfire of a cat-centered conversation with my list of Five Totally Bad Ass Cat Breeds.

He's sexy and he knows it.

1.  The Maine Coon

History:  The product of elopements between certain. . .um. . .morally flexible house cats and sweet-talking raccoons?  Descendants of Marie Antoinette’s own fashionable pets?  Though both theories have been floated, the real genesis of the Maine Coon is sketchy.  This much we know:  The Maine Coon has been in America nearly as long as Americans have.  Especially well-suited to harsh New England weather (check out the long tufts of fur that grow between his toe pads), the Coon is named for the state where his breed is thought to have originated.

Why the Maine Coon is Bad Ass:  Come on—just look at him.  He’s magnificent, from the lynx-like tips of his tufted ears to the end of his plumed tail.  Everything about the Maine Coon is both substantial and showy.  Known as the “gentle giant”, he is the largest of all domestic cats (males often top 20 pounds),  has a friendly, clownish personality, gets along well with children and other animals, and favors games of fetch with his people.  This cat is every bit as happy playing dress up with the kids as he is sleeping through some chick flick with a belly full of Cheez-Its, just like Dad.  The Maine Coon is also prone to polydactylism (extra toes); how bad ass is that?  And Maine is one of only three states which ever bothered to adopt an official state cat.  Guess which breed?

Like Bring Your Pet to Class Day at Clown College

honorable mention:  the Norwegian Forest

Because 128 billion Japanese people can't be wrong

2.  The Japanese Bob

History:  Native to Japan and Southeast Asia, the Japanese Bob has been documented as a feline variety for centuries.  That’s right:  centuries.   His trademark characteristic–a bunny-like puff of a tail–is the result of a recessive gene, although his publicist likes to tell a version in which a long-tailed ancestor nearly burned down the capital city when its tail caught fire and flames were spread as it ran through the streets, an incident resulting in the Emperor’s decree that all cats should have their tails cut off to prevent future misfortune.  You can believe whichever story you wish.

Why the Japanese Bob is Bad Ass:  Let’s face it; superstition-wise, cats really have been screwed.  What with their tendency to associate with witches, their occult powers, and that whole

I got your good luck right here. . .

stealing the breath from a baby debacle, cats can be a PR nightmare.  Except for the Japanese Bob!  He has been a constant figure in Japanese art and folklore, with the tricolor mi-ke considered especially fortuitous.  Ever seen one of those quaint “beckoning cat” trinkets at flea markets or in the odd-smelling homes of ancient people?  Those suckers are Japanese Bobs, and are guaranteed to bring good luck.  And perhaps you’ve heard of a little manga character called Hello Kitty?  She’s one

Screw you, I'm a Japanese Bob.

Japanese Bob who’s laughing all the way to the bank. Combine those cultural bullet points with a loquacious personality and the willingness to walk on a leash, and you’ve got a bad ass cat breed which has learned how to work its resources.

honorable mention:  the Scottish Fold

 

3.  The Bombay

History:  In contrast to the long and fabled histories of the Maine Coon and the Japanese Bob, the American Bombay’s story is a short one.  In 1958, a Louisville,KY, cat fancier undertook a breeding program aimed at producing the perfect black cat;  a black panther in miniature.  The Bombay is a medium-sized, tightly muscled feline with an almost majestic look.  Like her namesake, the Bombay sports a jet black coat and copper-colored eyes.  Miss Bombay is the supermodel of the cat world, but she is anything but highfalutin.  Social in nature, the Bombay loves to cuddle and burrow for warmth, and she tolerates dogs well.  Because breeders are relatively rare, bringing home a Bombay shows the sensibilities of a cat connoisseur.Why the Bombay is Bad Ass:  No matter what you might think of so-called designer breeds, the Bombay is something to behold.  Velvety fur so black it almost reflects white, eyes so striking they could have been Photoshopped, and a classic feline body type. . .plus, as a bonus, Bombays come with a string of characterisic-inspired nicknames that makes their owners wink and smile knowingly at their own wit:  the parlor panther, the Louisville hugger, the heat seeking missile, the patent-leather kitty with the copper penny eyes.  That shit’s legit.

What a Bombay sees when she looks in the mirror

honorable mention:  the Havana Brown

 4.  The Bengal

History:  A number of cat breeds are rumored to result from Tristan and Isolde-style unions between domestic cats and wild animals; few

Take a walk on the wild side

actually prove the claim.  Consider the Bengal, if you will.  In the 1960′s, a California breeder set up a blind date between one of her domestic cats and an Asian Leopard Cat she kept as an exotic pet.  The resulting half-wild kittens were the first of what would become known as Bengals.  Today’s pet Bengal must be at least four generations removed from the Asian Leopard Cat in its breeding line, but retain that exotic, just-out-of-the-jungle appearance.  The Bengal is athletic, opinionated, and vocal.  He’s a jumper, a climber, a swimmer,  and–when bored–a mischief maker.  Put simply, the Bengal is a trip.

Bengal playing flute in the style of Jethro Tull's Ian Anderson--on one leg!

Why the Bengal is Bad Ass:    Despite that unfortunate business with the Cat Fancier’s Association (CFA won’t recognize the Bengal breed because it’s a hybrid), Bengals have become one of the most popular cats worldwide.  Celebrity owners include Kevin Bacon, Bruce Springsteen, Ian Anderson, Calvin Klein, and the Sultan of Brunei.  Don’t expect to pay chump change for your pet Bengal, though.  A low end pet quality Bengal can cost $650, and fine breeders routinely ask more than $1,000.  In 1998, a foundation Bengal was sold at auction for an extremely bad ass $40,000–the world’s record for the most expensive cat ever sold!

honorable mention:  the Somalian

5.  The Sphynx

History:  One fine morning in 1966, a Toronto resident was presented a litter of kittens by his pet cat.  Among the litter, a particular kitten stood out:  it was completely hairless.  One can only imagine the cat lover’s initial response to the tiny,

Love child of Yoda and ET

bald creature must have been, “Ew.”  But, being a man, his second response quite naturally was, “Know what would be cool?  If I could make that happen again!”  So he named the unfortunate, wrinkled kitten Prune and raised him to manhood, at which point poor Prune was encouraged to mate with his own mother, as if looking like a foreskin with eyes weren’t traumatic enough.  After a rather fretful trial run in which only a few more hairless kittens were born (the bald females tended to have convulsions and the males possessed such low self-image that they were uninterested in mating at all), a dependable breeding stock was established, making the Sphynx that long-sought-after missing link between Ripley’s Believe It Or Not and the Cat Fancier’s Association.

Why the Sphynx is Bad Ass:  Bitch, please.  Although she is frequently mistaken for a walking spleen, despite her susceptibility to chills,

Just great. Another bad hair day.

sunburn, and a waxy buildup on her skin, the Sphynx has become a popular pet (among cat lovers of certain tastes) and a staple of popular culture.  Austin Powers’ nemesis, Dr. Evil, commits mayhem with his beloved Sphynx Mr. Bigglesworth at his side.  A series of children’s books called Bad Kitty (by Nick Bruel) features a Sphynx cat called Strange Kitty.  And in an episode of FRIENDS (The One With The Ball), Rachel brings home a show quality Sphynx named Mrs. Whiskerson, whom Joey insists is not a cat at all, Gunther suspects to be some kind of snake, and Ross claims must be inside out.  Though not an ideal pet choice for everyone, the Sphynx has truly earned her swag.

honorable mention:  the Devon Curl

And there you have it:  five varied, yet totally bad ass cat breeds .  One more thing—this list is subject to the author’s opinion only, and the author is only too happy to acknowledge that whatever cat belongs to you, the reader, is truly the baddest cat in the land.  So no hate mail, please.

TORMENT ME

Damn you.
And that shirt.
Damn you in that shirt.
Smirk and pretend that you’re unaware,
But I know that you know
What you’re doing
To me.

Careworn,
Threadbare, and
Faded the color of old straw
With a single, ragged hole. . .right there.
How I want to peek behind that
Yellow curtain and see what
It’s hiding.

 The line
It draws across
Your shoulders is wicked.
I would wet my fingertips in earthy ochre
And slowly paint from left to right,
Then stand back
To admire.

My name
Should be written
Across your broad chest,
Scratched there by my own hand
Like limonite on the ancient walls of Cypress,
Claim staked for all to see
Open to none
But me.

Torment me
With that broad chest,
And with those wicked shoulders,
And the way faded yellow tumbles down
From precipice to canyon.
I sing amen, and again:
Amen.

~lisa

AMONG CLOWNS

I’ll run to join the circus
Spend my days among the clowns
With laughter in my life or nothing at all
Leave this wretched, worn out town

Before my beating heart becomes a stone
And my soul turned by Medusa’s stare
I’ll wrap myself in a blanket of stars
Let its warm glow comfort me there

Let’s hear it for simple human kindness
Boys in ball caps; girls in spring dresses
For love affairs that last a whole lifetime
And stopping to count up our blessings

We can flirt and hold hands just for the fun
Find diamonds hidden in the straw
And no one will dare to judge our dancing
Just because they’re deaf to our song

Lights from the tilt-o-whirl brighten my eyes
The calliope rings in my head
The machine has coughed out enough of my bones
I’ll take the circus instead

~lisa

WORDS FOR THE BROKEN-HEARTED

The rock where you stand is cold, and it’s desolate;
How many times have I stood in that place?
I know the mistrust in your eyes, the hesitation in your smile,
How your heart pounds out a litany of questions,
And pain expands your lungs with every breath.

Solitary is the path walked by the broken-hearted;
Where bodies draw inward to protect wounded souls,
Where scar tissue grows thick beneath endless granite skies,
Where simple pleasantries are stopped at the door
And melodies are silenced.

You offered your life, your love, your world,
Gifts that were neither wanted nor deserved.
So you clutch tattered shreds of brightly colored papers,
Knowing you threw the prize after a dream
That would never come true.

But look up, dear friend, look to the sky and see
The silvery moon softly smiling to light your way
Until the sun reaches down and warms your tear-stained face.
Fluttering leaves scatter your cries to the wind
And the universe calls you home.

Take another step; that rock beneath your feet
Was built layer by layer, made substantial
By those who walked the solitary path before you,
Just as you now pave the way for those
Who will arrive in their time.

And that aching heart, ever faithful, ever hopeful,
Still pushes life through the tributaries
That keep your river’s current flowing fast and strong.
That’s you, my friend: more than strong enough
To weather the storm.

Put these memories in a photograph album;
Keep them in a chest of fragrant cedar–
In time this pain will pass into the world of shadows
And in its place will be your reward;
All you ever wanted.

~lisa