I Wrote a Song About Your Car

This Entry Dedicated to Brian. And I think I know who you are.

A blue beast rolling down the road making a rumble to rival Armageddon. Don’t need a key to turn it on. You can even leave it running and take the key with you if you want. If you honk the horn the windshield wipers will move.

Look underneath. Not the hood, but underneath the car. It’s held together by reshaped metal coat hangers. Each wire tenuously holding some vital part into place.

Bring blankets with you in the cold because the beast will take the entire drive to warm up. Oh, and just run with the traffic because the speedometer doesn’t work. Well, it occasionally works. It will pop up to tell you how fast you’re going and then it will sink back down to zero and stay there until it gets the whim to tell you again. The car runs. It does. Despite its name: nova. In Spanish, No va: Doesn’t go.

I wrote a song about your car. But I don’t remember the lyrics anymore. But I guess when you get a car for free you can’t really expect much of a song.

Who else but my brother and I are going to save the world from sunshine?

The clouds are alive. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I stand in awe of Nature, her power, her beauty, and her cruelty. There is nothing so totally lacking in prejudice than Nature. She will rain on the rich and the poor. She will give sunshine to black and to white. And finally, she will take it all away with one breath.

My brother and I stand on the edge of the high cement fence and watch as the clouds turn from grey to green. We shout out to those walking by to run for cover. We have no need for cover, my brother and I, we are made of different fabric. We are the dark that dwells deep and runs rampant through it all. We have no control over nature, but where it comes to destroy we will be there.

Mudslides bringing down million dollar homes. Tornadoes running through poor trailer parks. Earthquakes giving terror to all, shaking, cracking, tearing down what men think they have permanently erected.

It’s been so long that we’ve stood and shouted that I’ve even forgotten my brother’s name. I’ve even forgotten if he’s my brother by birth or by destiny. Look into the darkening sky, feel the nothingness that is you. Who else but my brother and I are going to save the world from sunshine?

Hammer Without a Master

Potential energy,right? The power something possesses while it just sits there waiting to be used. The sound of it is powerful: potential energy.

I am the epitome of potential energy. I can build worlds. I can make boys into men. I can teach girls to be strong! I can!

No one wants me. Here I am composed entirely of potential, but no one will take me into his hands. No one will discover that which I am capable of.

Potential energy. I sit here. I age. I rust. Potential energy crumbles into uselessness.

Matriarch on a Vespa

Estelle knows exactly what she has to do. She walks into her spacious closet, opens the secret drawer, and proudly puts in her no-nonsense teeth. Adjusting her knee-highs, she steps out of her room and into the kitchen. She grabs the heavy-laden box of her precious goods and steps onto the sidewalk and into the bright sunlight of that hot July day. Tucking the box into her bright red purse, she walks the counted steps to her beloved bike and climbs on board. To hell with daintiness, this was a time for action.

This bike has wings. Estelle never felt more alive than she did with the bike humming beneath her. She punches it and is off into the traffic. Zigzagging with years of expertise, Estelle never misses an opportunity. She knows the streets like the back of her hand and has successfully gotten out of every speeding ticket she’d ever been pulled over for.

Time is of the essence now. Every second counts. She speeds past a semi then quickly darts in front of it to avoid a blue SUV. From there she pours on the speed. The miles go by quickly: seven, six, five, a big lazy turn, four, three, slowing to leave the highway, into the lunchtime traffic. Two miles to go through corporate zombies driving Beemers and Mercedes on their lunch hours. They hardly look up as Estelle gracefully passes through and around them.

One mile to go, her target in sight. No traffic, green light. Estelle is free. She and her bike become one and she glows with pride. Pulling into the parking lot she switches off her bike, and strolls into the building. She has arrived and delivers the goods just in the nick of time.

Estelle's marble fudge is a staple at the church bake sale--the congregation would be lost without it. Thank God for that bike and its speed.

Maaike's Needs

So, what you do is Google your name with "needs" (i.e. Maaike needs) then post the top ten. I had to Google, Yahoo, and Ask to get enough different ones, but you might have an easier time. The need comes first, and then my comments. Here goes:

Maaike Needs

1. Maaike needed work experience in something other than art. (I have work experience in other things, now what I need is a JOB!)

2. Maaike needs a home! (Do you have one for me?)

3. If you marry a Scotsman, Maaike, you’ll need to be the hunter/gatherer as well as the cook. (I'm game as long as he has that awesome accent!!)

4. Maaike doesn’t need much. (But I'd like a couple million dollars)

5. Maaike needs to adjust her image. (Or buy a mirror that lies)

6. Maaike needs to seek explanations. (Or do others need explanations from me?)

7. Maaike needs a hug (that came from my own blog!)

8. Other than that I’ve just been trying to stay on top of Maaike’s needs. (Who? No one's been helping me!)

9. Maaike needs very little intervention. (Oh boy did they get THAT wrong!)

10. To calculate your compatibility with Maaike you need to enter your birthday. (and your height and bank account balance.)

Minky Updates...

Hello! Since Camille wanted some updates, here's the latest in the land of Me:

Eustachian tube disorder (ETD):

The Eustachian tube is a hollow structure of bone and cartilage that extends from the middle ear to the rear of the throat. Because of a lifetime of sinus problems (and problems with my left ear) I am now the proud owner of this disorder. Here's what they say about fixing it:

Your ETD may be something that you were born with, or it may be caused by tissue inflammation. The problem may or may not be correctable. A diligent ear, nose and throat specialist (ENT) could take a number of approaches to try to correct the problem, but there are no guarantees of success.

So, at least I've got that going for me.

Babysitting a cat:

This is Kuzya. He belongs to a family from Russia. Right now the Mom and the kids are in Russia visiting their grandparents. The Dad is here at UI but is traveling most of the time and then will be joining his family. So, I'm babysitting. Kuzya is very mellow and very sweet. He was sleeping under my bed just purring away. I'm glad he seems to like it here.

When the family takes him home on October 1st I'll have to go out and get a cat of my very own. Maybe even a Russian Blue like I've wanted for a while!

And finally:


My seeds are growing! I've planted tomatoes, jalapenos, mini cantaloupes, lavender, lemon balm, strawberries, and chamomile (in the photo). Dan also gave me two small spinach plants.

It's fun watching them grow.

So, that's what I've been up to. I mean, other than school, church, my two jobs, etc., etc.

Thanks for listening...and, Camille, thanks for being curious!! I love it!

I don't like Burger King, but this CRACKS ME UP!

The Spooky Sofa

A True Tale by Maaike Davidson

It is a dark and stormy night…as it ought to have been. The thunderclaps rumble through the air with tangible force.

The sofa lurks in the middle of the living room. Its dark green surface shudders under the flashes of lightning making the paisley patterns cut into the fabric look like sinister smiles.

Other furniture around the room stands at a distance from those smiles. Smiles without eyes. Each bolt of lightning makes the gossamer curtains shine like neon enshrouding the sofa in a swath of eerie light. Paisley smiles laugh at the thunder.

Rain smashes against the windows tittering like imps bringing a sense of fear to the candelabra as it sits on the piano. A loud clap of thunder causes the crystals in the chandelier hanging from the ceiling to add their sounds to the din.

The rug underneath the sofa hugs close to the floor for security. It hates having to bear the weight of the green smiling creature atop it.

Wind howls. Lightning flashes. Thunder crashes. Rain tells its tales to the glass of the windows. Amidst it all stands the spooky sofa. It revels in this weather.