In All Unseriousness

I have now taught two writing classes to a group of five seniors in San Francisco. It is funny to finally take a stab at something I have thought about doing for a long time. It is another kind of funny to do something people have told me that I would be good at. It really is too early to tell if I am a good teacher or not, but sitting at the head of a table in front of five people who I can guarantee have lived much more interesting lives than I can is really special. One of my students Judy came to San Francisco in 1979 and she never left. Another one of of my students, Mary, is an elegant French woman who always smiles and lifts her chin up after anything she says. Another one of my students, Jeremy, uses a carved wooden cane and he plays guitar, bass, and always has his harmonica on him. Then there is Linda and she is naturally funny. Lastly, there is Jim and he is newly retired and is learning just about everything because as he told me, “When you are retired, everyday is the weekend… I don’t want to get dementia.” 

A few weeks ago I woke up to the sound of applause at a movie theater. Before I nodded off, I was watching A Hard Days Night and George Harrison said to Paul McCartney’s grandfather, “I did not realize that the majority of your life is being middle aged and old.” This sentiment has been circulating my brain. Everything feels so temporary and maybe that is why I am embracing hedonism. Getting to see Judy, Mary, Jeremy, Linda, and Jim has been enlightening in the way life keeps going and it does not end here nor there, unless maybe if you die. In all seriousness, I think things have become too serious. I suppose maybe that is why I have been writing nonsense. It is fun and all you have to do is go for a walk and talk to a stranger for material. Last night I heard the poet Juan Felipe Herrera read. He was full of joy and described the concept of getting writing material as gathering ingredients. He said, “Once I was listening to a podcast and they said the words 'Buddhist Cinema’ I thought I better write that down.” He proceeded to read the best nonsensical poem (in my opinion).

Inside Jobs:

When you wash your car it will rain.

When the radio station you are listening to goes on commercial, its because all the other radio stations are also on commercial (same goes with cable television).

When you are running late and taking the bus, the bus is delayed (same goes with traffic)

When you go to a bar not expecting to run into anyone so you neglect to put on something nice, that is when you run into someone you never wanted to see again.

When you go to the store with a list of ingredients for a recipe, you will forget the most important thing.

When you go window shopping with a full bank account no clothes catch your eye, but as soon as you should not spend any discretionary money that is when you come across the perfect pair of jeans and a dress that fits you like a glove.

When you leave the house without a proper jacket it is cold, when you leave the house with a proper jacket, you will have to carry it.

When you say, “I am not drinking tonight. I am going to go home early” you probably won’t and you probably will wake up not in your bed.

I think the government has something to do with all of this.

Spring:

Bumblebees knock on my window telling me it is time to conduct a lemon grass symphony to the tune of spring.

The sunset is a clementine and the breeze never kicks up. 

It is a honeysuckle saccharine drum roll to summer time.

Pretending:

When I was a kid I would play pretend. 

Sometimes there were props of baby dolls or my Mother’s high heels.

I still play the game although the rules have changed.

Now it looks like sitting in Washington Square Park around Midnight.

I take sips of a beer and talk to a friend who is seated next to me.

We account for all the empty pizza boxes and then wonder about the future.

The Future.

I wonder about kids.

My friends says, “I think you’ll be a great Mother.”

I say, “I have always wanted to be one”, but the reality is that I do not know what being one is actually like. 

It is like reading about a place you never will go to, like nineteenth century France or the Galapagos Islands.

There are facts, like how to make a person, how long it takes to grow a person, what to do when they are growing, what not to do when they are growing, how to deliver a person, how to feed a new person.

Then there are ideas of what it means to raise a child. 

Speak sternly or softly.

Let them sleep in your bed or don’t.

Maybe not oddly enough, but there is a place I go to in my brain when this imaginary child I birthed is crying and not sleeping. In this scenario, maybe I have had about four hours of sleep. I escape to the kitchen and place my elbows on the counter and fall into my own hands. I am hysterically laughing but little to no sounds escape my mouth, maybe it is because I am unbelievably happy. The father of this baby joins me in the kitchen and we laugh so hard it hurts. We laugh because it is ridiculous and we remember we wanted this thing. We wanted to be sleep deprived and change diapers.

I say to my friend next to me on the bench, “Is it selfish to want children?”

“I don’t think so” he replies.

I guess it is funny to me to want something that requires the utmost selflessness that is only known when you are in it, but I am just imagining it.

Social Intricacies of Oral Hygiene:
A toothbrush means nights and mornings. It means cleanliness and a kind of permanence. It means a next time until forever ends. It means a hairbrush and your side of the bed. It means ⅘ dentists approve this sleeping arrangement. It means I like yous will maybe turn into I love yous. A toothbrush can multiply into a drawer and extra pairs of underwear and other hygiene paraphernalia.

The Dotted Line:

The Signature Hawks were hunting for my autograph so one eyed cherry pickers could have a lifelong supply of eye patches. 

They (the Signature Hawks) had talons full of pens and clipboards full of dotted lines. They called after me, “Do you have a moment…” I got out of dodge the best way I knew how, pretending the only thing I can read are Chinese lips that are in the mood for love.

The diversion almost made me late for my date with the dim sum ATM because I had to take my passport photo for a trip I don’t know I am taking. 

I got lost in my pixelated reflection. There are creases in my face, parentheses around my mouth, the number eleven between my eyebrows all because I smile and think often. These valleys in my face might be due to the gray hairs that have been sprouting on my head and you cannot have one without the other (wrinkles and gray hairs). My picture reported back to me cobble stone lips which is because I met someone who keeps stamps in their bed side table and I lost my chapstick.

Walking up a hill flanked with Victorians I held my self-portrait. I thought about how the Post Office juggles bills and love letters and get well soon cards. I thought about fan mail and permission slips and how is it that signature hawks can pay for postage.

I entered a post office and the power went out. The mailman that was helping me was a retired pirate. I found this out because when the power went out he said, “Arrrrr.” I thought his eye patch was necessary, the peg leg something to not pay attention to, and the parrot on his should an emotional support animal. Luckily, my dim sum ATM self portrait left only to come back bounded in some other outfit.

My passport photo got mailed back to me in a little blue book that lacked stamps which tell me where I once was. I have been near and far, crossed ponds, and continents only to realize a lot of life is about signing the dotted line, dating and initialing until your hair becomes silver and your face gets wrinkly. If you are lucky maybe in the meantime you can find treasure at the bottom of a cookie jar urn or maybe you will find a treasure chest because of a map with an X that marked the spot.