bagel memories, among others

I entered an actual contest today, for a spa getaway at an undisclosed location. Maybe that’s where Dick Cheney heads when he’s taking cover. Speaking of The Big Dick, he recently developed a blood clot after substantial plane travel. I’ve been wondering if all the time I spend at the computer, on my arse, could do the same. Sure enough, there’s a study out of New Zealand this week that says yes. It's odd that a number of Republicans have developed DVT. Constitutional Spoiler Richard Nixon, Spelling Bee Champion Dan Quayle and now The Big Dick. Maybe being heartless predisposes one to DVT? Oh, I better censor myself. I might want to do some serious journalism after I finish my MFA. This commentary might be held against me.

The contest I entered, HERE, is sponsored by Lender’s Bagels. They ask that you share you memories. We ate Lender’s when we were growing up. They came six to a bag. I wish I could share my entry, since it’s actually pretty funny, with a little blood and violence. However advance publication might render me ineligible. If I win I will post it for sure. The contest closes May 31. Please note that your entry becomes the property of Lender’s. If you are an intellectual-property extremist, you might want to skip this, and keep your bagel memories to yourself.

I discovered a blog I love, Confessions of a Pioneer Woman. I’ve linked it over to the right. She was just in Austin, to receive a Bloggie. She mentioned she’d gotten a pedicure, and boy did a memory come rushing back to me, as fast as a Texas Hill country flash flood. I was doing a divorce retreat, at this inspiring Red Corral Ranch in Wimberly.

I was still a basket case over everything, and I woke up one morning and said, “I want a pedicure.” I had never had a professional pedicure. I mentioned it at breakfast, and one of the women, an attendee, a prospective divorcee, told me her nephew was one of the best pedicurists in Austin. He used to do Laura Bush’s toes when her husband Bush the Disaster President was governor of Texas. And he was in People Magazine because of it. But that wasn’t the real story. The real story was that he was gay, and he was bullied so much in high school, he dropped out. To me, that’s a huge story, bigger than painting the governor’s wife’s toes. Though he was a total artist in that regard. The second and only other professional pedicure I’ve had did not come close.

Lately, I’ve been obsessed by the real story, about what we can write and what we can’t write, and whether the reasons we use not to write are legitimate. Even with this blog, I can’t write the real story, at least not without occasionally infuriating at least one party, my son’s father. Life with him often feels like a ride along an unpredictably bumpy road in a car that does not have shock absorbers. Joint custody almost by definition impedes authentic narrative. At least the contemporaneous narrative that is blogging. That's one reason I choose to write arounds sweeps. They're my beard! Also, I can be shy.