Around the World & the Bizarre Boys

They had first names that I once knew, but I couldn't tell you now what they were for the life of me.
They had last names too, but I always knew them as the 'Bizarre Boys.'

For five years, from the time I was three until about eight, they lived across the bumpity-bumpity brick road from us.

We lived on the lake and had a dock. They liked to fish & used our dock.

In their back yard, between the hammock and the shed, they had a rich black worm mound.

I liked to grab an old tin coffee can and dig my dirty little fingers into the cool, dark dirt & pull out worms for them to fish with.

Older than me, they weren't as fascinated by the idea of a worm hill as I was.

I never really liked these boys, and I certainly didn't like a lot of things they thought was funny or some of the things they did...
but I did like that worm hill...
and I loved their hammock.

I knew that if I dug for their worms and gathered enough up in the coffee can for them, that I would get my reward.
I'd climb up on that hammock & sit with my feet dangling....
I would watch and wait.

Before too long, one of the Bizarre brothers would push me before taking off to go fish.
I loved it and almost always squealed for them to push me harder, faster.
And they would.

One day while I was digging in worm mound, they asked me if I wanted to go around the world later on.
I thought of digging a hole right through that worm mound, straight down to China and all the Kimono's and Koi Fish that could come back with me, so I promptly told them 'Yeah...I wanna go around the world!'

Sitting on the hammock a wee bit later, one of the brother's told me lay square in the center & hold on tight.
I smiled and laced my fingers into the side of the hammock, spreading my feet and locking my toes into ropey slots.
His brother joined him and the two of them paced slowly backwards, pulling the hammock with me inside, back and up with them...
so began the first push.

My laughter was matched with theirs as they pushed me faster & harder.
I pulled the sides of the hammock over my face and torso.
I pulled my feet together and dug in deeper with my heels and toes.
I centered my gravity where the earth seemed to want it.

And so I began my trip around the world...
around and around I went...
full-circle.


(Artwork, "Sisters" by Sister Singleton... Counting down the weeks until my sisters and I begin and end our trip around the world with one another...at the beach...may the circle remain unbroken)

Red, Rust & Spread All Over

I don't know why we had a gallon of red enamel paint in our garage.
Perhaps it had been left by the renters before us, along with an old dust-bunny covered , leaves weaved into the spider webs rusty, encrusted old brush old brush.
I never paid it too much attention...other than noting that it was there, pushed up to the narrow strip of wall that divided the single garage doors on our old double garage.
I don't know why I did what I did, other than it felt like the thing to do at the moment.
Maybe, I was just bored or maybe I was inspired.
I plucked all the webs and bunnies and age-dried leaves out of the brush.
I shook that can with the weight of my entire body.
I pried the top off with the handle of a dinner fork
and looked as the rust dust as it fell atop the crimson paint.
I wandered into the yard and found an old oak stick, with which I stirred the bucket of love up.
Bows and Arrows.
Hearts.
One Letter.
Two Words.
Every symbol as BIG as me.
Perfectly centered.
Filling the canvas of our double-wide driveway.
Splattered ... Plastered... Tagged...
It was all good...
"Skinny N Timmy"

Mother was livid when she returned home from work to see my handy-dandy graffiti proclamation of LoVe. Of course, the Florida sun had quick dried the permanent paint. Still, she had me scrub with a scrub brush and turpentine and I can remember that scrub brush eventually disintegrating, but red-etchings from that bucket of love remained for the tenants that followed behind us... May the Circle Remain Unbroken.

Last One Standing & First One Down

Barefoot, with toenails painted & fingers not, sporting jogging shorts and a black sabbath tank, the dog days of summer were upon us.
The fire engine red polish winked back up at the sun, as did the wet, wavy tinsel some 30 feet below.
The iron tubing that served as the top bar on the safety railing was as hot as an iron skillet ready for batter.
With both arms behind me, I gripped the bar with one hand, then the other. Playing hot potato.
'David did it.'
'Yeah, so did Will. He said it was fun.'
'A lot of people have done it.'
'I heard it's a rush man.'
'Are you gonna do it?'
'Yeah, I'll probably go for it....you?'
'I don't know...looks pretty scary.'
I say nothing and notice that the iron tube seems to be cooling under my palms.
A 1965 white T-bird convertible pulls up and Billy bellows out...
'Skinny! What the phuck are you doing?!'
'Just hanging out'
A horn honks...pulling away, Billy barks 'Hang on! Lemme park this beast.'
Before he can run up the incline of the bridge, a 79 Spyder comes driving past.
It's Steve.
Steve who is 3 years older than me.
Steve who has delicious blue eyes that seem to dance when I'm around.
Steve who surfs & smokes pot & makes me stomach do flips.
Steve who bangs a U-turn when he sees me.
Steve who came back around and stops just in time to see Tracey pull my jogging shorts down to my ankles.
Steve who saw me instinctively let go off both bars to pull my bottoms back up.
Steve who saw me do what no one else there had done.
Plunge 30' feet down off the bridge and into the open salty waters below.

Sometimes...in life, if we don't jump or get pushed, we simply fall to where we are meant to be.
'Last One Standing' Outsider Hippie Art By Sister Singleton

Pixies, Post-its & Keeping My Word

I don't know what made me think it was a good idea.
Perhaps it was the mischievous grin the UPS guy & I always shared when he dropped off or picked up packages.
Perhaps it was the reams of paper, stacks of post-its and such that was within those boxes.
What-ever my reasoning, I guess a reasonably intelligent business owner should have known better than have a girl who daydreams about being a Pixie, a Fairy or even BeWitched as his office manager.
'I'm gonna borrow some office supplies, if that's OK. I promise I get 'em back to you in the next week or so.'
Ever-so-trusting...'Sure. Never a problem Skinny.'
'Thanks'
Ten packs of post-its turned into fifteen, then maybe even twenty. I lost count, but I kept them all, knowing that I would have to make good on my word to the boss-man.
In fact, I kept them in a cigar box.
Then, I kept them in two.
Finally, I had them in three.
Three. 3. The magic number.
I fiddled and faddled with those plain, mundane little squares of sticky paper night after night.
Alone sometimes, but usually with good company and sometimes even some not-so-good-company, but company none-the-less.
Armed with permi-markers & cold beer, we would sit around my kitchen table and doodle.
A flower.
A candle.
A sun.
A man.
A peace sign.
A word.
A sentence.
A song.
A thought.
Finally, I gathered the three boxes & took them with me.
First, I covered the white mercedes benz convertible, inside & out.
Then I left a trail, like cookie crumbs from the car across the cold concrete to the door.
In the door the trail led though one room, down a hall and ultimately to the downstairs bathroom.
Why the downstairs bathroom?
Because I never used it.
Happy Birthday to the boss-man.