Let It Snow.

It's snowing in Houston. Cross my holiday season heart and hope to run out of hot chocolate. It's snowing. I received a text message this afternoon - around 4:30, asking me if it was snowing at my place. It wasn't...yet. I'd had an extraordinarily lazy day. I'd enjoyed a massage and I'd taken a nap. I'd only been paged twice and had dispatched the inquiries with ease. (I love my Wednesdays.) I continued my leisurely pace, finished getting dressed and pulled on my wool cap, leather jacket and boots and headed downstairs to my car. I needed to do a little shopping.

Tiny orbs of sleet greeted me. They bounced off the cars and the parking lot with pings! and tings! and I laughed out loud. "Really? Sleet?"

The pavement was wet but wasn't icy, so I continued out onto the city streets. Oh. My. God.

Houston drivers need to just stop and - well GO! Gridlock met me in the Med Center. The streets weren't slick, but people were driving 20 miles per hour. Why? I haven't a clue. To make matters worse, the traffic light at Kirby and Main was out of sync and wasn't letting drivers make a left onto Main every other cycle.

I started getting texts about the "snow". It wasn't snowing where I was. It was okay that I was looking at my cell phone. I wasn't going anywhere. Fast. This weather occurrence was getting a lot of play in cellular land. I finally pulled into Target, spent about 15 minutes and 40 dollars, and made my way to the exit. I was almost knocked over by a checker who was running toward the store with his cell phone open, arm extended and yelling back over his shoulder, "I'm going to take video of it. It's awesome!"

I walked out of the door, thinking, "Right, sleet." I was met with the most beautiful sight. Giant, fat, fluffy, overfed, white snowflakes whirled and spun from the sky. It was an incredible sight. People stood in the parking lot of Target with their faces turned toward the heavens. I saw one family who had pulled into the lot and the teenaged kids were dancing around the car with their arms spread almost as wide as the smiles on their faces. It was snowing in Houston.

By then the traffic had cleared a bit. I drove to a nearby Tex-Mex place to place an order for dinner, since the snow had put a whammy on any possibility of seeing my sweetie. I sat at the bar as I'm known to do. I'm not shy about starting up conversations with people and there was a basketball game coming on, anyway. Snow has a way of giving people something to talk about and soon we were talking. The man to my right was a 25 year old from Austin who is trying to break into the music industry in Houston. He's a fan of Jack Kerouac and Hunter S. Thompson. That gives me hope for the upcoming generation, when I hear that they are reading those writers. We also talked about Austin music. The man to my left was a 61 year old who commutes between Houston and Tulsa. He knew some of the doctors I used to work for, back when I was cutting my teeth in the Med Center. Interesting conversations from both. By the time I drove home, there was a light blanket on the grass near Reliant Center.

I'm not sure what tomorrow morning will bring. I suppose I will set my alarm an extra hour early tomorrow. I've switched my car over to 4-wheel-drive, just in case. It's a rare thing when we get real snow in Houston. I'm glad I was able to see it.

Tortuosity (advice to a newbie on dissecting near a major artery)

The surprise is the knuckle,
the bend.
The signs point to a straight path
but near the end waits
a stumble,
a falter.

Unseen detours pose risk to
he who treads;
perhaps more to he who holds title.
Not trespass - true -
but to what breaches do missteps lead?

Such long travels!
Oh, to rest in the crook
and gain the strength to continue
this journey.
Strike on and look forward, traveler.

Laws of Physics

Heat moves
down
a
gradient.

She watches with one eye,
her face on the desk,
feeling her passion escape onto
the surface as
his pen swings an even wider arc.

For just a moment,
she trusts gravity.
She raises her hand and
reaches out to stop him.

Seek the pivot.
Seek the fulcrum.
They point to balance.

No matter that all
matter falls the same.
The rush of the speed
through this fall is
certainly unique.

What motives send them vibrating
-past,
-about,
-against?


The energy to step over detritus
becomes deficient
after prolongued contact
with a human wrecking ball.

I Can Be Convinced.

"Who's the businessman?"

The reader at Marie Leveau's House of Voodoo looked directly into my eyes and asked me again, "Who's the businessman?"

I stammered. I smiled. I told her I knew who he was. She turned over the next card.

"He has to travel? He's some distance from you?"

My heartrate increased. I felt the hammer of my pulse in my chest. What could be next?

She continued to turn over my cards, one after the other, telling me things I already knew. Through the first set and into the next. I left a little shaken, but happy. I walked out of the crowded shop and stepped onto Bourbon Street. My friends decided to pay for readings and it would be awhile. I walked to the bar next door and ordered a vodka tonic. I stood on the street and sipped it while I watched people pass in front of me. I walked back into the store when my friend asked me to sit in on her reading.

The reader started turning over cards and set one horizontally, carefully, deliberately on the table.

She asked my friend, "Is there a Pisces that could be influencing you emotionally?"

I offered to leave the room. Both told me to stay.

My cards were suddenly appearing in my friend's deck. This was bizarre - and disconcerting. I felt as if I'd ruined her reading. How was that possible?

But how was it possible that I'd thought someone had climbed into the small double bed with us the night before? I felt someone climb onto the bed, twice, and it wasn't our male roomie.

How was it possible that our other friend woke to see a dog sitting between the two beds?

Granted, we were staying in a hotel known for its hauntings.

But, I didn't expect to experience anything to do with the paranormal. Well, I admit, I'd wanted to have my chakras read. I wasn't planning to have a Tarot card reading. The voodoo shops kind of creeped me out. Until I had a reading that felt so accurate, and pleasant, and exciting.

I admit that I was having a fun time with our hotel, joking around about the hauntings. I asked on more than one occasion if the people in the hall were "real people". I even teased my friend about the handsome doorman. He had such fabulous ice blue eyes (her weakness), but he only worked at night. I told her he must certainly be a vampire.

Now I kind of wish I hadn't been so flip about it all. I bought a juju to bring home - just in case. It's at the entrance to my office at work. I collect skulls and I found one with a tiny skull and feathers. I'm sure my office mates will have an opinion about it. I will have fond memories of New Orleans when I see it. I certainly am anxious to see how my reading turns out, although how can I really see the ending? My final card was the infinity card, after all.

Hearts

This is a careful walk I take
across your landscape.
Though invited and called,
I stand at the gate.

I pause.

The wreckage comes to meet me.
It winds around my ankles
like an alley cat after a
bloody battle.

I step,
one, two,
then I wait.

Are you ready for my company?
Would you rather steep in your own
misery?

You have been shattered.
Your shards of glass will certainly
cut me.

Perhaps I can carry a few of these pieces.
I will tend to your hearts,
as you did mine.

Rest.

©M.Scofield July 7, 2008

Chance Meeting

I paid more than I should have to attend the Nutcracker Market last Friday. It's a fundraiser for the Houston Ballet. Vendors from all over the United States converge on Reliant Center and set up booths of trinkets, treasures and things I definitely don't need. Admission is charged for the right to shop in cramped aisles for things that are not necessary and in this economy, I was tempted to spend, but held firm to my conviction to take care with my dollars. I bought spaghetti sauce, tasted lots of toffee, and petted the cashmere wraps but stopped short of breaking my budget. I enjoyed the holiday music and the company of my friend as we fondled earrings and necklaces and decided we could make them for a fraction of the asking price.

I was stunned to see that Hendley Market had a booth. They had a limited supply of goods for sale. I stopped to talk with the owner and the workers in the booth. I told them about the story below. We all had tears in our eyes as I left. I am so moved by their determination to reopen and I am awed by their strength. I look forward to getting back to The Strand.



There's A Pig In My Pocket. October 17, 2008

I've had a tiny plastic pig in my pocket since December of last year. It's as long as the diameter of a nickel. I know because I find myself reaching into the right pocket of my labcoat in search of the little piggy several times a day. I like to know he's there. He hangs out with my loose change and a couple paperclips.

I bought him when a group of us went to Dickens On The Strand. It's a wonderful festival in Galveston, coordinated by the Galveston Historical Foundation. I have a friend who plays in a pipe and drum band. That sunny Saturday her faithful corps of groupies and hangers-on lined the streets to cheer her as she passed (looking smashing in her knee socks and kilt), then we all hit the pub, quenched our collective thirst and decided to check out the shops on The Strand.

We found a fascinating gift shop, Hendley Market, where we browsed, laughed and contributed our fair share to the local economy. I found medical antiques which is almost as good for me as finding an attractive man with a job - absent a wife, girlfriend, loan shark or bookie. Hendley Market had baskets and baskets of teeny, tiny plastic figures. I bought several of each. I bought ninjas and babies and flying cats. I had to have the miniature rubber chickens. Who wouldn't? I bought the plastic pigs. I bought those things by the dozens.

On returning to work the following week I paid close attention to my colleagues. If someone seemed a little down or in need of something I gave them a little present. I didn't tell them why, I just asked them to give me their hand and I placed the tiny wonder in their palm. And I smiled at them. I have only two remaining. My pig in my pocket and a flying cat that balances on the nose of a labrador retriever that stays on my desk to remind me of my lost Maggie.

Galveston isn't the same. I saw a shot of Hendley Market for a brief moment on television and I turned off my set. I don't want to see it now, but here's the fun part. Sometimes I walk past a computer in the hospital and I see a little rubber chicken taped to the monitor. I've seen a ninja on a name badge and someone I didn't know asked me if I was that "flying cat" lady. I am.

Hole

Can you imagine?
Do you see?
I stand before a gaping hole.

I've done my best to fill it in but you come along and dig.

I fill it with stones pulled from my heart.
I grow them there.
I grow them in my heart.
There is no part of me that has not wished you in this hole to lie and rot with your good wishes.

If I allowed pebbles to fall
from my fingers,
rather than tears from my eyes-
would the space between fill sooner?

Soon seems unattainable.
I wonder if it can be filled at all.
The volume is so great today and
yesterday was forgotten.
How quickly these reminders come,
and how unwelcome.

I should place your shovel in the hole to stop you from digging.
In my wildest dream, my hands are dirt-black and my nails are torn from the effort of burying us - of burying what we were.
Exhausted, my clothes are rags and I sleep on the ground.
Exhausted, I sleep.