Aaron Polson's Blog, page 10
April 20, 2012
4/20, or "That Holliday"
If you don't know about 4/20, I'll steer you to a rather "weasel-word" free article at Wikipedia.
This is a quickie from my Aimee files:
Once, while working as a WRAP social worker at Free State High School, Aimee spoke with an intoxicated student in her office on April 20th. The kid's rationale for showing up to school drunk rather stoned (as one who would celebrate 4/20 might be expected to celebrate)?
"I was afraid I'd get in trouble for being high at school."
Right. Good thinking kid. Drunk was a much better choice.
She proceeded to vomit in the middle of Aimee's office.
We had some laughs about that one. Big, hearty laughs.
April 19, 2012
On Laughter
Aimee's laughter, as many friends and family have shared, didn't just tumble from her mouth. It exploded. I've seen her drop to the floor laughing, like when she received in the mail a certain bridesmaid dress with a rather large "ass bow" on the rear. Her laughter infected everyone in the room.
We shared many private laughs, too, many laughs late at night or early in the morning, laughs to heal hurts and lift each other when life sucked.
While discussing The Things They Carried the other day, a student shared a memory which in turn sparked an Aimee memory--these little grief land mines are everywhere these days. I remembered Thanksgiving eve 1999. Coaching duties at Free State High School prevented Aimee from going home to St. Louis for the holiday, so we visited my aunt and uncle in Kansas City. On the eve, we dined at Panda Garden (still my favorite Chinese-American in Larryville), and crashed in her bed later, telling stupid stories and laughing for hours.
She had a way with the kids, too, especially when they were little. Aimee made all our babies spew fiery little baby giggles. She taught us all to lay on the floor, heads resting on each-others' laps, and laugh. (One you should try, folks. Sounds nutty, but it works.)
I still laugh, and I will keep laughing. But it stings a little. It feels hollow and cheap like the ringing of an ill-made bell. I don't know if it's exactly guilt I feel, or something else. I miss Aimee's falling-down and rolling around laughter, but I'm thankful for such rich memories.
We shared many private laughs, too, many laughs late at night or early in the morning, laughs to heal hurts and lift each other when life sucked.
While discussing The Things They Carried the other day, a student shared a memory which in turn sparked an Aimee memory--these little grief land mines are everywhere these days. I remembered Thanksgiving eve 1999. Coaching duties at Free State High School prevented Aimee from going home to St. Louis for the holiday, so we visited my aunt and uncle in Kansas City. On the eve, we dined at Panda Garden (still my favorite Chinese-American in Larryville), and crashed in her bed later, telling stupid stories and laughing for hours.
She had a way with the kids, too, especially when they were little. Aimee made all our babies spew fiery little baby giggles. She taught us all to lay on the floor, heads resting on each-others' laps, and laugh. (One you should try, folks. Sounds nutty, but it works.)
I still laugh, and I will keep laughing. But it stings a little. It feels hollow and cheap like the ringing of an ill-made bell. I don't know if it's exactly guilt I feel, or something else. I miss Aimee's falling-down and rolling around laughter, but I'm thankful for such rich memories.
April 17, 2012
My Stories
I woke this morning to an email from Shock Totem's editor-in-chief Ken Wood. It seems "Wanting It" from Shock Totem #3 made Ellen Datlow's list of Honorable Mentions for Best Horror of the Year Volume 4 (2011). I took a gander at the full list, and it seems two other tales of mine, "Molting Season" from Polluto 7 and "Ngiri's Catch" from
Historical Lovecraft
, also made the list. An honorable mention hat trick.
Thanks, Ms. Datlow. And thanks as well to Ken Wood and the Shock Totem staff, Adam Lowe and Victoria Hooper of Polluto, and Silvia Moreno-Garcia and Paula R. Stiles, editors of Historical Lovecraft.
Aimee always told me she wished I could stay home and write full time. I just wanted to tell stories, good stories. I wanted her to be proud, too.
I've made "Wanting It" available to read as a PDF for free. Simply click the link below. It's one of my favorite stories, and one which really strikes at the hurt which has burrowed into my chest.
Download "Wanting It"
I hope you're proud, Ziggs. These are for you, especially "Wanting It"; every night now I feel like I'm alone on the farmhouse floor, waiting for you.
Thanks, Ms. Datlow. And thanks as well to Ken Wood and the Shock Totem staff, Adam Lowe and Victoria Hooper of Polluto, and Silvia Moreno-Garcia and Paula R. Stiles, editors of Historical Lovecraft.
Aimee always told me she wished I could stay home and write full time. I just wanted to tell stories, good stories. I wanted her to be proud, too.
I've made "Wanting It" available to read as a PDF for free. Simply click the link below. It's one of my favorite stories, and one which really strikes at the hurt which has burrowed into my chest.
Download "Wanting It"
I hope you're proud, Ziggs. These are for you, especially "Wanting It"; every night now I feel like I'm alone on the farmhouse floor, waiting for you.
April 16, 2012
Culture Clash
Since my early childhood, I've held the 4th of July close to my heart. Most boys I know did--who couldn't love a holiday which encouraged the use of explosives?
My detonations took place in small town America: Clay Center, KS, population just shy of five thousand. Aimee was from a different world--St. Louis, MO, population a whole helluva lot more.
Aimee made her first trip to Clay Center for the 4th in 1999. I treated her to the deliberately-paced (slow) spectacle (meaning non-spectacle) that was Clay Center's 4th celebration. We parked with old high school buddies in a grocery store lot, the same store where those buddies and I worked in our formative years. The city fireworks display launched above the football stadium about 1/4 mile away. After the "show" we lit our own fireworks. Jason bragged about the prowess of the buzz bomb, and then heartily defended the buzz bombs of his youth when the 1999 version sputtered and we all laughed--especially Aimee with that deep, soul-shaking laugh of hers. She spoke of the V.P. Fair in St. Louis, but never to degrade our small town experience. She had a gift that way. Even as one friend snuggled with his fiancée in the bed of a pick-up truck to Cinderella's "You Don't Know What You've Got Till It's Gone," she simply said, "That's when I knew I was in small town America."
God knows how easy it was to mock Clay Center 4ths...
We started traveling to Belle Plaine, KS, for the 4th in 2002. Aaron, another high school bud, lives in the open country south of Wichita. Out there, surrounded by well-irrigated corn fields, we can detonate everything we want--and often do. Aimee trooped along, year after year, and finally came to enjoy (I hope), the slower pace and free-wheeling attitude of small town celebrations. All the gunpowder in the world can't mask the simple fact that the 4th of July is really about friends and family. My boys have grown up with Aaron and Jason's kids, splashing in mud puddles, having water gun fights, and finally starting to launch their own fireworks as they've grown older. I told Aimee we'd try and get the crew to go to St. Louis for the V.P. Fair one year. We haven't made it, yet.
I'll head back to Belle Plaine to hang out with Aaron and Jason this year. I'll bring my boys, and they'll run and play with the other kids. I'll go to sleep, alone, in a borrowed bed and wish Aimee was there to enjoy every small town moment of it.
Holidays are going to be hard.
My detonations took place in small town America: Clay Center, KS, population just shy of five thousand. Aimee was from a different world--St. Louis, MO, population a whole helluva lot more.
Aimee made her first trip to Clay Center for the 4th in 1999. I treated her to the deliberately-paced (slow) spectacle (meaning non-spectacle) that was Clay Center's 4th celebration. We parked with old high school buddies in a grocery store lot, the same store where those buddies and I worked in our formative years. The city fireworks display launched above the football stadium about 1/4 mile away. After the "show" we lit our own fireworks. Jason bragged about the prowess of the buzz bomb, and then heartily defended the buzz bombs of his youth when the 1999 version sputtered and we all laughed--especially Aimee with that deep, soul-shaking laugh of hers. She spoke of the V.P. Fair in St. Louis, but never to degrade our small town experience. She had a gift that way. Even as one friend snuggled with his fiancée in the bed of a pick-up truck to Cinderella's "You Don't Know What You've Got Till It's Gone," she simply said, "That's when I knew I was in small town America."
God knows how easy it was to mock Clay Center 4ths...
We started traveling to Belle Plaine, KS, for the 4th in 2002. Aaron, another high school bud, lives in the open country south of Wichita. Out there, surrounded by well-irrigated corn fields, we can detonate everything we want--and often do. Aimee trooped along, year after year, and finally came to enjoy (I hope), the slower pace and free-wheeling attitude of small town celebrations. All the gunpowder in the world can't mask the simple fact that the 4th of July is really about friends and family. My boys have grown up with Aaron and Jason's kids, splashing in mud puddles, having water gun fights, and finally starting to launch their own fireworks as they've grown older. I told Aimee we'd try and get the crew to go to St. Louis for the V.P. Fair one year. We haven't made it, yet.
I'll head back to Belle Plaine to hang out with Aaron and Jason this year. I'll bring my boys, and they'll run and play with the other kids. I'll go to sleep, alone, in a borrowed bed and wish Aimee was there to enjoy every small town moment of it.
Holidays are going to be hard.
April 12, 2012
Alpha Pizza, Omega Pizza
On our first "real" date, Aimee and I shared a pizza at Rudy's Pizzeria. On the night before she died, we had another Rudy's pizza with our boys. Our alpha and omega.
Aimee loved Rudy's--she loved pizza in just about any form. On many trips to St. Louis, we would stop at Shakespeare's Pizza in Columbia, one of her favorite undergrad hangouts. No trip home was complete without ordering Imo's--ultra-thin crust "St. Louis Style" pizza. We still have three bottles of Imo's Italian dressing in our pantry.
But Rudy's was our alpha and omega. Our first and last.
I remember so many firsts with Aimee. The first movie we saw in the theater was The Waterboy. (Yes, I'm a little embarrassed to admit it.) Our first bar hop was to the non-defunct Cabaret in Kansas City. The first trip we took together was a midnight escape to Booneville, Missouri. Yes, Booneville. (We drew it out of a hat). We scared some poor Best Western clerk when asking for a room at 2:00 AM and hiked Missouri's Katy Trail the next day.
I remember the first time I said "I love you" in the kitchen of the 1220 House, a rental on Rhode Island Street in Lawrence she shared with Steve and Erika. I remember the first time we kissed, rather old-fashioned like, on the porch of that same house after a date.
The firsts are easy to remember. The lasts, not as much. I never planned on any of them being the "last."
It's a call to appreciate as many moments as we can. Have a good Thursday. Live big.
Aimee loved Rudy's--she loved pizza in just about any form. On many trips to St. Louis, we would stop at Shakespeare's Pizza in Columbia, one of her favorite undergrad hangouts. No trip home was complete without ordering Imo's--ultra-thin crust "St. Louis Style" pizza. We still have three bottles of Imo's Italian dressing in our pantry.
But Rudy's was our alpha and omega. Our first and last.
I remember so many firsts with Aimee. The first movie we saw in the theater was The Waterboy. (Yes, I'm a little embarrassed to admit it.) Our first bar hop was to the non-defunct Cabaret in Kansas City. The first trip we took together was a midnight escape to Booneville, Missouri. Yes, Booneville. (We drew it out of a hat). We scared some poor Best Western clerk when asking for a room at 2:00 AM and hiked Missouri's Katy Trail the next day.
I remember the first time I said "I love you" in the kitchen of the 1220 House, a rental on Rhode Island Street in Lawrence she shared with Steve and Erika. I remember the first time we kissed, rather old-fashioned like, on the porch of that same house after a date.
The firsts are easy to remember. The lasts, not as much. I never planned on any of them being the "last."
It's a call to appreciate as many moments as we can. Have a good Thursday. Live big.
April 10, 2012
National Post Office Day
This is how I met my wife, a story I've told many times but never committed to paper (or pixels).
During the fall and winter of 1998/99, I worked at an entertainment store as the book department manager. I'll stop short of calling it an actual bookstore, but with the closing of Borders, Hastings is now the biggest store which sells books in Lawrence. Spend one holiday shopping season in retail and you'll want to run away--far away. Sometime in mid-November, we hired seasonal employees to help with the crush of customers.
No, Aimee wasn't a seasonal hire, but her roommate Steve was. He thought I was cute. And nice. And gay...
After sorting out a few personal details (like the fact I wasn't playing for Steve's team, a matter I tried to explain with the best tact I could muster at twenty-three), he decided (reluctantly--still holding out hope, I guess) he should introduce me to Aimee. Several friends of Steve & Aimee's concurred, including a college buddy who was visiting from Chicago one fateful Tuesday in December.
I'd moved to Lawrence that summer to be with another woman... one who promptly kicked me to the curb for a short guy with a beard who looked a little like her father. That, I suppose, could make another interesting tale. Since the messy breakup, I'd kept odd hours. Let's blame it on a wonky retail work schedule, okay? Wonky enough I found myself at the Vermont Street post office at eleven P.M. on Tuesday, December 8th, 1998. What kind of a weirdo goes to the post at night?
Me. I still do it from time to time.
After slipping my package in the appropriate slot, I stepped out of the building for my car, and who should be passing on the street but Steve. And who was in his passenger seat? Aimee.They'd just returned to Lawrence after dropping that mutual friend from Chicago at Kansas City International Airport, the only "international" airport I've ever known with no direct international flights.
My first impression of my future wife? She was short. Very short despite standing nearly 5'10". See, Steve drove a red Honda Civic hatchback, the kind they haven't made for years. Aimee coached basketball for Free State High School in those days, and, wearing sweats and a hat, didn't want to be seen so she scrunched down in the seat. Steve pulled over--much to Aimee's horror--and invited me to a holiday party at their place that weekend.
Ever since that day, Aimee and I celebrated the second Tuesday in December as National Post Office Day, they day she tried not to be seen and I imagined she was about 5'2".
Ever since that day, Tuesdays have been a special day. Have a good one.
During the fall and winter of 1998/99, I worked at an entertainment store as the book department manager. I'll stop short of calling it an actual bookstore, but with the closing of Borders, Hastings is now the biggest store which sells books in Lawrence. Spend one holiday shopping season in retail and you'll want to run away--far away. Sometime in mid-November, we hired seasonal employees to help with the crush of customers.
No, Aimee wasn't a seasonal hire, but her roommate Steve was. He thought I was cute. And nice. And gay...
After sorting out a few personal details (like the fact I wasn't playing for Steve's team, a matter I tried to explain with the best tact I could muster at twenty-three), he decided (reluctantly--still holding out hope, I guess) he should introduce me to Aimee. Several friends of Steve & Aimee's concurred, including a college buddy who was visiting from Chicago one fateful Tuesday in December.
I'd moved to Lawrence that summer to be with another woman... one who promptly kicked me to the curb for a short guy with a beard who looked a little like her father. That, I suppose, could make another interesting tale. Since the messy breakup, I'd kept odd hours. Let's blame it on a wonky retail work schedule, okay? Wonky enough I found myself at the Vermont Street post office at eleven P.M. on Tuesday, December 8th, 1998. What kind of a weirdo goes to the post at night?
Me. I still do it from time to time.
After slipping my package in the appropriate slot, I stepped out of the building for my car, and who should be passing on the street but Steve. And who was in his passenger seat? Aimee.They'd just returned to Lawrence after dropping that mutual friend from Chicago at Kansas City International Airport, the only "international" airport I've ever known with no direct international flights.
My first impression of my future wife? She was short. Very short despite standing nearly 5'10". See, Steve drove a red Honda Civic hatchback, the kind they haven't made for years. Aimee coached basketball for Free State High School in those days, and, wearing sweats and a hat, didn't want to be seen so she scrunched down in the seat. Steve pulled over--much to Aimee's horror--and invited me to a holiday party at their place that weekend.
Ever since that day, Aimee and I celebrated the second Tuesday in December as National Post Office Day, they day she tried not to be seen and I imagined she was about 5'2".
Ever since that day, Tuesdays have been a special day. Have a good one.
April 9, 2012
Our Stories Define Us
A few pieces of bright writing news surfaced in the middle of last week's morass:
My short story, "Scar Tissue Wings", will appear in this year's Triangulation: Morning After anthology (pending a few edits). Thanks to Stephen Ramey and the crew for including my work again. "Scar Tissue Wings" was written as a response to my time in the hospital with Max back in December. Funny how stories give us perspective.
I received a contract from the incomparable Jodi Lee for "The Monster Game" which will appear in Return to New Bedlam. Jodi kindly asked if I'd like to include Aimee's name in the dedication. Thanks, Jodi.
My books are slowly resurfacing in Amazon.com's Kindle store. You can now find digital copies of Echoes of the Dead and The House Eaters with more on the way. All the "also boughts" are gone, but the books are there. Two weeks ago, this seemed like the most important thing in my life.
I was young and foolish, then.
The world is absurd. Just absurd.
Thanks for sharing it with me.
April 7, 2012
This is Why We Tell Stories
I know one thing after living the worst week of my life: we tell stories so we can live the worst weeks of our lives.
Our (meaning Aimee's and my) friends and I have told many stories this week--too many for me to account. Those stories have saved me, bit by bit. Those stories have propped me and held me and kept me moving through the most unimaginable brokenness.
We tell stories because we are human. Because we hurt. Because we love. Because, in the end, without stories, the vast, unfeeling universe might crush us.
But take heart.
I have a story to tell. Several of them. And together, we will hurt, and love, and keep telling stories.
I plan to share some of my favorites about my wife this year.
Write hard. Love hard. Live a good, full life.
Take care.
Our (meaning Aimee's and my) friends and I have told many stories this week--too many for me to account. Those stories have saved me, bit by bit. Those stories have propped me and held me and kept me moving through the most unimaginable brokenness.
We tell stories because we are human. Because we hurt. Because we love. Because, in the end, without stories, the vast, unfeeling universe might crush us.
But take heart.
I have a story to tell. Several of them. And together, we will hurt, and love, and keep telling stories.
I plan to share some of my favorites about my wife this year.
Write hard. Love hard. Live a good, full life.
Take care.
April 2, 2012
Howl, howl, howl...
Aimee Ziegler (my wife)
November 11, 1971 - April 2, 2012
Love you, Ziggs...
"O God, God, How stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!"
- William Shakespeare, Hamlet
March 30, 2012
Conjure This
I picked up a copy of Fritz Leiber's Conjure Wife on Amazon. Yes, I went for the dead tree edition for six bucks rather than a $7.69 e-copy. I'm still that guy. If the price was $3.99 or less on Kindle, maybe... but that's beside the point.
I'm a good twenty pages in, and it's a fine book, but the cover troubles me:
This woman is not Tansy. Not in my imagination. Not from a book published in 1943, no matter how dark the fantasy. The hair, her dress, the gothed-out eyes... Not to mention the words at the bottom of the cover: "The Classic of Urban Fantasy". What? Urban Fantasy wasn't even a phrase one used in 1943. Was it?
This is marketing, sure, disguising a classic horror novel in trappings of the now to sucker new readers. Not unlike slapping a Twilighty cover on Romeo and Juliet, Wuthering Heights, and Pride and Prejudice:
Oh yes they did.
Does the cover effect my reading of the book? The jury is still out, but if I'm thinking about the cover instead of the content, I'd have to say all signs are pointing to YES. What about you?
I'm a good twenty pages in, and it's a fine book, but the cover troubles me:
This woman is not Tansy. Not in my imagination. Not from a book published in 1943, no matter how dark the fantasy. The hair, her dress, the gothed-out eyes... Not to mention the words at the bottom of the cover: "The Classic of Urban Fantasy". What? Urban Fantasy wasn't even a phrase one used in 1943. Was it?
This is marketing, sure, disguising a classic horror novel in trappings of the now to sucker new readers. Not unlike slapping a Twilighty cover on Romeo and Juliet, Wuthering Heights, and Pride and Prejudice:
Oh yes they did.
Does the cover effect my reading of the book? The jury is still out, but if I'm thinking about the cover instead of the content, I'd have to say all signs are pointing to YES. What about you?
