Oh, a hair! A white, white hair!
Color it! Cover it! Hear me shout!
Pull it! Yank it! Tear it OUT!
Aging? Never! No not I.
I'm 32 until I die.
Liposuction
Nip and tuck
Eyebrow lifts for just a buck.
Lasar zap that fat away!
Facial contours
Don't delay!
Round that bum
And lift that chest!
Aren't my new lips
Just the best?!
Ah, my skin! It just got clearer...
But, hey, who's that there in my bathroom mirror?
By: Sarah L. Garriott
Monday, April 5, 2010
Lost
Again I looked for you today--there where I thought you would be--and then I remembered that you weren't.
I heard you laughing today, but it was another.
I thought sure you were coming perhaps in time for the holiday or at least by Spring, but something always seems to foul up the plan and, once again, you are delayed in your arrival. Perhaps next year?
The family has been asking about you. I smile and change the subject. I hate to raise false hopes.
I couldn't find my cellular phone the other day; I said a little prayer and magically walked right to it. I can't tell you how many times I've prayed about you and still you are lost to me.
I have called you in every way I know how, but you simply refuse to come in to dinner!
Have you caught the kisses I've been blowing for you? I send them every day.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
I heard you laughing today, but it was another.
I thought sure you were coming perhaps in time for the holiday or at least by Spring, but something always seems to foul up the plan and, once again, you are delayed in your arrival. Perhaps next year?
The family has been asking about you. I smile and change the subject. I hate to raise false hopes.
I couldn't find my cellular phone the other day; I said a little prayer and magically walked right to it. I can't tell you how many times I've prayed about you and still you are lost to me.
I have called you in every way I know how, but you simply refuse to come in to dinner!
Have you caught the kisses I've been blowing for you? I send them every day.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
Grandmother
For nearly ten long years you have been gone
Yet still in my world you live.
When I pen these words
It is your hands I see writing.
When I speak
It is your voice I so often hear.
When I cry
It is your arms I feel around me.
When I laugh
I know you laugh with me.
I'm glad you are with me, Grandmother, for in my day growing old is something to disdain and to fear. Aging is a disease to be fought with all manner of physical alterations and fervent denial. Women cling to their youth as a child clings to its mother.
But you, Grandmother, have given me a reason to grow old and to glory in it. Educated and eloquent, giving and full of grace, brimming with wisdom and experience I can't envision a more beautiful woman than you are.
Your life's history is recorded in the wrinkles of your skin, in the strands of your soft white curls and in the depths of your eyes.
With rolls of baked goods stored around your middle and age spots on your hands--you have known not only pain and loss, but also joy and abundance.
When I rock my children
I sing with your voice.
When I put them to bed
I pray with your faith.
When I tell them I love them
I feel generations of love.
As I grow old
I am glad of your company.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
Yet still in my world you live.
When I pen these words
It is your hands I see writing.
When I speak
It is your voice I so often hear.
When I cry
It is your arms I feel around me.
When I laugh
I know you laugh with me.
I'm glad you are with me, Grandmother, for in my day growing old is something to disdain and to fear. Aging is a disease to be fought with all manner of physical alterations and fervent denial. Women cling to their youth as a child clings to its mother.
But you, Grandmother, have given me a reason to grow old and to glory in it. Educated and eloquent, giving and full of grace, brimming with wisdom and experience I can't envision a more beautiful woman than you are.
Your life's history is recorded in the wrinkles of your skin, in the strands of your soft white curls and in the depths of your eyes.
With rolls of baked goods stored around your middle and age spots on your hands--you have known not only pain and loss, but also joy and abundance.
When I rock my children
I sing with your voice.
When I put them to bed
I pray with your faith.
When I tell them I love them
I feel generations of love.
As I grow old
I am glad of your company.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Sound Pollution
You know you live on an Island when...
Have you ever slept in a cheap hotel near a busy freeway? How about tent camping near a bustling train track? Those sounds. Those vibrations. You never forget them.
Sometimes living in the middle of Puget Sound surrounded by a dense blanket of fog is like that. You feel it. You remember it. You might never sleep.
Some people think the sound is lovely and romantic. Some find it haunting and lonely. Some people think that warp and two woofs make magical music. I think they must not live a mile from the ferry dock.
When I was twelve my family went on our first luxury cruise up the St. Lawrence River, docking in Quebec for a day and then on around Cape Cod and into New York. It was a splendid experience. I remember my oldest brother, Matt, break dancing 'til dawn and I remember amazing midnight buffets. Yet one memory stands out from the rest: the day of the fog.
My brother, Alex, and I--tired of being cooped up--decided to go up on the top-most deck and attempt a game of tennis. It was so foggy that I couldn't see Alex on the other side of the net nor could I have any indication as to where the ball would suddenly appear for me to chase. It was so windy that often when the ball did appear it would suddenly veer away or even blow over board. We couldn't hear each other and had great fun even trying to hit the ball at all in the wind. Often, we couldn't even see the end of our own racket.
I was standing with my back to the middle of the ship and Alex was standing with his back to the stern when suddenly the ship's fog horn sounded. Jolted, I discovered I was standing directly in front of the horn -- the bell of it open like a great white shark's jaws surrounding my five-foot, two-inch frame.
The blast of the horn literally propelled me to the deck. My ears rang for hours. Every cell in my body still retains the memory of the sound and sensation. Never had sound been such a physical, tangible force.
Picture now this Emerald Isle where I live filled with conifers and lush with life. From above you look down and see only the very tops of the trees as the mist and fog engulf the land. Above you are a million stars in the velvet night. Somewhere on that misty Isle I am sleeping. Softly sleeping in the Sound until -- the warp blares long and the woofs bleat again and again. The ferry has docked and I am awake. http://www.historylink.org/video/ferry_whistle/whistles.htm
Have you ever slept in a cheap hotel near a busy freeway? How about tent camping near a bustling train track? Those sounds. Those vibrations. You never forget them.
Sometimes living in the middle of Puget Sound surrounded by a dense blanket of fog is like that. You feel it. You remember it. You might never sleep.
Some people think the sound is lovely and romantic. Some find it haunting and lonely. Some people think that warp and two woofs make magical music. I think they must not live a mile from the ferry dock.
When I was twelve my family went on our first luxury cruise up the St. Lawrence River, docking in Quebec for a day and then on around Cape Cod and into New York. It was a splendid experience. I remember my oldest brother, Matt, break dancing 'til dawn and I remember amazing midnight buffets. Yet one memory stands out from the rest: the day of the fog.
My brother, Alex, and I--tired of being cooped up--decided to go up on the top-most deck and attempt a game of tennis. It was so foggy that I couldn't see Alex on the other side of the net nor could I have any indication as to where the ball would suddenly appear for me to chase. It was so windy that often when the ball did appear it would suddenly veer away or even blow over board. We couldn't hear each other and had great fun even trying to hit the ball at all in the wind. Often, we couldn't even see the end of our own racket.
I was standing with my back to the middle of the ship and Alex was standing with his back to the stern when suddenly the ship's fog horn sounded. Jolted, I discovered I was standing directly in front of the horn -- the bell of it open like a great white shark's jaws surrounding my five-foot, two-inch frame.
The blast of the horn literally propelled me to the deck. My ears rang for hours. Every cell in my body still retains the memory of the sound and sensation. Never had sound been such a physical, tangible force.
Picture now this Emerald Isle where I live filled with conifers and lush with life. From above you look down and see only the very tops of the trees as the mist and fog engulf the land. Above you are a million stars in the velvet night. Somewhere on that misty Isle I am sleeping. Softly sleeping in the Sound until -- the warp blares long and the woofs bleat again and again. The ferry has docked and I am awake. http://www.historylink.org/video/ferry_whistle/whistles.htm
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Spring
Curlicue, curlicue
what a funny little line.
A shape that swirls
and curls
and twirls
around us
all the time.
It twines
around the farmyard, too.
It winds
around the town.
I've seen it
round the pumpkin patch
unfolding up and down.
Our galaxy's a curlicue
--a galactic, cinnamon twist--
Full of stars
and sugar dust
and powdered
moon-lit mist.
I looked inside a snail's shell
and deep inside an ear
And there it was
--that twirly shape
that I'm describing here!
A lollipop,
a curly lock,
a tail on a boar
The water
swirling down the drain,
a tornadoe's wicked roar.
Like steps
that spiral
round and round
inside the castle tower,
The curlicue
is shaping life
with stunning
genome power.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
what a funny little line.
A shape that swirls
and curls
and twirls
around us
all the time.
It twines
around the farmyard, too.
It winds
around the town.
I've seen it
round the pumpkin patch
unfolding up and down.
Our galaxy's a curlicue
--a galactic, cinnamon twist--
Full of stars
and sugar dust
and powdered
moon-lit mist.
I looked inside a snail's shell
and deep inside an ear
And there it was
--that twirly shape
that I'm describing here!
A lollipop,
a curly lock,
a tail on a boar
The water
swirling down the drain,
a tornadoe's wicked roar.
Like steps
that spiral
round and round
inside the castle tower,
The curlicue
is shaping life
with stunning
genome power.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
An Island Passage
It stretches long.
Winding itself
back and forth
maintaining
its bi-polar course
It bends.
Wandering lazily
through the evergreens
dressing itself
in Autumn's foliage
It heaves.
Skimming along
the seashore
soaking up salt and sun
It facilitates life.
Rushing past
storefronts
cascading
down down
to the Sound
It brings me home
again.
Winding itself
back and forth
maintaining
its bi-polar course
It bends.
Wandering lazily
through the evergreens
dressing itself
in Autumn's foliage
It heaves.
Skimming along
the seashore
soaking up salt and sun
It facilitates life.
Rushing past
storefronts
cascading
down down
to the Sound
It brings me home
again.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Civilized: adj. Characterized by Taste, Refinement or Restraint
I've been meaning to write this post for a couple of weeks now. It's just a short note about a little phenomenon on the Island named, "Grannie's." If you ever have the pleasure of being on the Island for more than a few days, you're bound to hear the term "Grannie's" thrown into conversation at one point or the other.
So what is "Grannie's?" Here are a few phrases you might hear in conversation. Try and guess!
"Isn't it great? I got it at Grannie's for only a buck fifty!" "If you don't pick up your toys, I'll take them to Grannie's!" "I seriously need to clean out my closet and just take everything to Grannie's!"
By now, I'm certain you have surmised the answer (a local, home-grown, second-hand store). Grannie's Attic is, in fact, a local thrift shop run by--you guessed it--Island Grannies. The store's main focus is to raise additional funds to support the largest Health Clinic on Vashon Island and they do a very nice job of it to the tune of a few hundred thousand dollars a year.
For me, however, I didn't know just how much Grannie's meant to many of our locals until one seemingly normal, Thursday morning about two weeks ago.
It was one of the first, cool Autumn days we'd had. (I remember because I had to argue with Truman about him wearing a coat out of the house that morning.) I put Anna on the school bus and then took Truman to the above mentioned Health Center to have his regular, well-child check-up. He did very well at his exam, but did have to have one shot. I told him, "Truman, if you sit still for your shot, I'll take you to Grannie's and let you pick out a toy afterwards." Well, that pacified him immediately and he sat brave as a soldier.
So, a kind "Thank you" to our family physician and off we walked across the parking lot to Grannie's. Now, I've found some wonderful things at Grannie's, but I'd never been to the thrift store at opening time before.
A rather non-descript sort of establishment, Grannie's has two buildings next to the Health Center (all part of some old military something-or-other). When we arrived at the door there were a couple of men standing right at the doorway. I noted that opening time was at 10:00 and being that it was only a quarter to, I decided to take Truman to the car, get him a snack and let him eat it there before going back to the thrift shop.
Five minutes or so later we were back at the front door, and to my astonishment, there were about 20 people now mulling around the building front! I wondered if there was some sort of special discount, blow-out clearance sale that day? But, Truman was still feeling a bit blue about his shot so I made light conversation with him and didn't bother to ask.
I noticed, a few minutes later, that mobs were gathering at the other Grannie's building as well. Cars were being parked in the field across the way as all the parking spaces were filling up. Was there a celebrity book signing at Grannie's Attic today? What in the world was going on?!
I was just about to ask a thin, wispy woman near me what the commotion was all about when she looked straight at me with an insinuating squint and spat, "You can't just walk up to the door and expect to cut in line in front of the rest of us." Oh, my! I was so suddenly made aware that there even was a line! But, now that she mentioned it, I could see that people had lined up on the sidewalk. I had just thought they were being polite and not pushy since they came from the other direction. The grass was wet, and I thought they were just standing on the walk way. I really didn't know it was an official line.
"Oh, I'm sorry." I honestly, innocently replied, "I didn't realize that there was a line."
That's when the tall, elegantly dressed, auburn-haired woman behind the thin one slowly turned her head towards me and hissed through lip-sticked lips, "There is."
Then, as I politely made my way to the back of "the line," the thin one muttered loudly, "Didn't know there was a line! Lines have been around since the beginning of civilization. All civilized people stand in lines!"
That's when I loudly told my son, "It's okay, Truman, You were such a good boy getting your shot at the doctor's this morning. We'll find you a nice little toy at Grannie's. The store will open soon."
The door soon opened and the greedy mob rushed the store (so much for lines) anxious to find the latest and greatest find. I witnessed one woman standing by a beat-up old desk, her hand resting on top, gloating to another treasure hunter, "Sorry, I got here first. It's mine!"
Somehow this all reminded me of those day-after-Thanksgiving retail-nightmare shopping tales of mobs rushing a Walmart. But here? On my tranquil Island? I was truly appalled, ashamed and sickened.
Truman and I stayed happily in the mostly patron-free toy section and he joyfully tried to make a selection. He was, thankfully, oblivious to the materialistic mob madly rushing about scouring the junk in the next room. I couldn't help but contrast Truman's utter delight in a simple toy car or a little figurine and how he was so honestly grateful to me for letting him choose a little something. We walked out with some "super secret spy glasses" for a dollar.
I think from now on, I'll try to go to Grannie's in the afternoon when the salivating shoppers have slunk back into their Island hide-outs with their treasures of broken tables and chairs, used pots and pans and trinkets of silver and gold.
Tell me that part about civilization again?
So what is "Grannie's?" Here are a few phrases you might hear in conversation. Try and guess!
"Isn't it great? I got it at Grannie's for only a buck fifty!" "If you don't pick up your toys, I'll take them to Grannie's!" "I seriously need to clean out my closet and just take everything to Grannie's!"
By now, I'm certain you have surmised the answer (a local, home-grown, second-hand store). Grannie's Attic is, in fact, a local thrift shop run by--you guessed it--Island Grannies. The store's main focus is to raise additional funds to support the largest Health Clinic on Vashon Island and they do a very nice job of it to the tune of a few hundred thousand dollars a year.
For me, however, I didn't know just how much Grannie's meant to many of our locals until one seemingly normal, Thursday morning about two weeks ago.
It was one of the first, cool Autumn days we'd had. (I remember because I had to argue with Truman about him wearing a coat out of the house that morning.) I put Anna on the school bus and then took Truman to the above mentioned Health Center to have his regular, well-child check-up. He did very well at his exam, but did have to have one shot. I told him, "Truman, if you sit still for your shot, I'll take you to Grannie's and let you pick out a toy afterwards." Well, that pacified him immediately and he sat brave as a soldier.
So, a kind "Thank you" to our family physician and off we walked across the parking lot to Grannie's. Now, I've found some wonderful things at Grannie's, but I'd never been to the thrift store at opening time before.
A rather non-descript sort of establishment, Grannie's has two buildings next to the Health Center (all part of some old military something-or-other). When we arrived at the door there were a couple of men standing right at the doorway. I noted that opening time was at 10:00 and being that it was only a quarter to, I decided to take Truman to the car, get him a snack and let him eat it there before going back to the thrift shop.
Five minutes or so later we were back at the front door, and to my astonishment, there were about 20 people now mulling around the building front! I wondered if there was some sort of special discount, blow-out clearance sale that day? But, Truman was still feeling a bit blue about his shot so I made light conversation with him and didn't bother to ask.
I noticed, a few minutes later, that mobs were gathering at the other Grannie's building as well. Cars were being parked in the field across the way as all the parking spaces were filling up. Was there a celebrity book signing at Grannie's Attic today? What in the world was going on?!
I was just about to ask a thin, wispy woman near me what the commotion was all about when she looked straight at me with an insinuating squint and spat, "You can't just walk up to the door and expect to cut in line in front of the rest of us." Oh, my! I was so suddenly made aware that there even was a line! But, now that she mentioned it, I could see that people had lined up on the sidewalk. I had just thought they were being polite and not pushy since they came from the other direction. The grass was wet, and I thought they were just standing on the walk way. I really didn't know it was an official line.
"Oh, I'm sorry." I honestly, innocently replied, "I didn't realize that there was a line."
That's when the tall, elegantly dressed, auburn-haired woman behind the thin one slowly turned her head towards me and hissed through lip-sticked lips, "There is."
Then, as I politely made my way to the back of "the line," the thin one muttered loudly, "Didn't know there was a line! Lines have been around since the beginning of civilization. All civilized people stand in lines!"
That's when I loudly told my son, "It's okay, Truman, You were such a good boy getting your shot at the doctor's this morning. We'll find you a nice little toy at Grannie's. The store will open soon."
The door soon opened and the greedy mob rushed the store (so much for lines) anxious to find the latest and greatest find. I witnessed one woman standing by a beat-up old desk, her hand resting on top, gloating to another treasure hunter, "Sorry, I got here first. It's mine!"
Somehow this all reminded me of those day-after-Thanksgiving retail-nightmare shopping tales of mobs rushing a Walmart. But here? On my tranquil Island? I was truly appalled, ashamed and sickened.
Truman and I stayed happily in the mostly patron-free toy section and he joyfully tried to make a selection. He was, thankfully, oblivious to the materialistic mob madly rushing about scouring the junk in the next room. I couldn't help but contrast Truman's utter delight in a simple toy car or a little figurine and how he was so honestly grateful to me for letting him choose a little something. We walked out with some "super secret spy glasses" for a dollar.
I think from now on, I'll try to go to Grannie's in the afternoon when the salivating shoppers have slunk back into their Island hide-outs with their treasures of broken tables and chairs, used pots and pans and trinkets of silver and gold.
Tell me that part about civilization again?
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