a tuna melt

I was diagnosed with diabetes in the summer of 2003. I don't think I have bought a loaf of bread since then. My metabolic system just can't handle the unnecessary carbohydrates in bread. Oh, sure, I have eaten bread since then, in restaurants or in a friend's home for a meal but buying an entire loaf of bread, given that I live alone, well, it was like making a plan to binge. My nutritionist advises me to limit my carbs to between 90 and 110 daily. I'd have to blow most of my carbs on a sandwich. Most of the time, I'll pass on bread.

Last Wednesday, while in the city for a weekly commitment, I was early. I am almost always early for everything. So I went strolling. And I read menus posted on restaurants. I almost never eat out in restaurants. I am disciplined about spending money and I can eat cheaper at home. And I am disciplined about what I eat; it is easier to eat healthy at home. I like to eat out, of course. I have read all the menus posted along Castro street, the main drag, of Mountain View. A small, stupid thing I do. So last Wednesday, I'm killing time, reading menus and other signs on storefronts when I read about a tuna melt.

I have not thought about tuna melts in years, certainly not since I gave up buying bread.

I wanted a tuna melt last Wednesday. Oh my gosh, how I wanted it.

But, as I have mentioned, I am a disciplined eater. I had already eaten all that I was going to eat last Wednesday. My inner voice, who was in a bratty mood, was petulant, whining as she demanded a tuna melt. I gave in to her quite like I used to give in to my dolly girl Katie. I promised her I would think about it, take it under advisement. Note: whenever Katie asked for things, especially when she had a bad case of the gimmees, I would say "I'll keep it in mind, I'll take that under advisement". This seemed to signal to her, when she was basking in greed, that I was going to give it to her and it would tend to shut her up. As she got older and wiser, she understood that I was blowing her off politely, that when I said "I'll think about it" I was mostly thinking "sure, honey, on a cold day in hell, I'll buy you that Barbie doll".

My inner voice is not as gullible as my little girl once was so when I tried to hush my longing for that tuna melt up, my inner voice grew more strident. She, me, really wanted a tuna melt.

The aforementioned tuna melt floated through me all week. When Wednesday came round again, as it did yesterday, as it does every week, I decided, in the morning, as I planned my food for the day, that I would have a tuna melt in that restaurant for dinner before my meeting.

And I did. Tuna melts. How can you go wrong? Tuna, mayo, cheese. All warmed up and gooey. It was delicious. A homemade one would have been better. A better tuna, a finer cheese, butter for the grill, better bread. But still, it was yummy. It was perfection. I savored every bite. And you know what? I am sated. I don't want another one. It's like that tuna melt is still satisfying me.

gosh golly

It has been so much fun to be back at the pool. Lots of people greet me with whoops of pleasure. All my homies had heard some version of what happened to me. Flattop had emailed me right after the conflict and I told him that the police had told me I was banned from the pool for life. The life banishment turned out to be cop bluster but my homies didn't know that. They organized a petition, to demand that I be allowed to return. Lots of them were willing to vouchsafe for me, even willing to say that if I had a problem with another swimmer, it was unlikely to be my fault. (and it wasn't my fault: that guy who slugged me was a newbie, nobody had ever seen him before).

Kay hugged me twice. Kay kept saying, in her cute, choppy accent, "You no kill somebody, why they no let you swim. Come on. You no kill anybody!" And, over and over she said, "So good to have you back. You swim with me."

Rebecca said "Ms. Pearls is back. I've missed you." Rebecca always notices my pearls. She says she imagines me swimming in them every time she sees me.

Lots of folks who knew nothing about my fracas had just plain old missed me. "Haven't see you in awhile! Nice to see you again!"

Those cops had made me feel like a slug, a worm, a crud. It felt so nice to be warmly greeted back.

Margaret, the head lifeguard, said "Welcome!" when she punched my ticket. Henry, the head recreation guy at the park system, the guy who had to let me back in, told me that as far as he and his entire staff is concerned, nothing ever happened. The slate is clean. Then he said he'd let Margaret know I was coming back so there wouldn't be a problem being admitted and I said "I don't embarass easy, Henry. If I did, I wouldn't be back at all."

Color me happy. It was hard to be banned from the pool but, gosh, I wouldn't feel as loved and popular as I do if it hadn't happened.

a regular or harmonious pattern

My rhythm, my regular, harmonious pattern, has been restored. I feel the universe rocking me as I swim. I feel grounded once more.

Praise goddess. I get to swim.

another poem

For My Daughter

When I die choose a star
and name it after me
that you may know
I have not abandoned
or forgotten you.
You were such a star to me,
following you through birth
and childhood, my hand
in your hand.

When I die
choose a star and name it
after me so that I may shine
down on you, until you join
me in darkness and silence
together.

--David Ignatow

So What

So What by Kim Addonizio

Guess what. If love is only chemistry--
phenylethylamine, that molecule
that dizzies up the brain's back room, smoky
with hot bebop, it won't be long until
a single worker's mopping up the scuffed
and littered floor, whistling tunelessly,
each endorphin cooling like a snuffed
glass candle, the air stale with memory.
So what, you say; outside, a shadow lifts
a trumpet from its case, lifts it like an ingot
and scatters a few virtuosic riffs
towards the locked-down stores. You've quit
believing that there's more, but you're still stirred
enough to stop, and wait, listening hard.