Monday, August 29

took an eternity and a gentle reminder

but I am a true over-thinker which is a polite term for vigilant that I am finding it terrible and difficult to hang on to a single thought to concentrate well in the manner if there's sunlight it were to shine on a coin in a street. blinding focus. I look away.

but as soon as I am left really alone, as happened on Saturday in a meeting room in a library, I begin to write the unhappy tale, the one that has been inside beaten down for all of the false honesty and smiles that persist and sell and will be here past myself ever existing to have worked as I did before, now, and later.

the unhappy tale is unhappy and not even me really wants to write what no one really wants to read. still, that is how far I have gotten.

reminds me that when I do sit at a piano I play a short song I wrote when I was nine years old. that musically was as far as I could go (parents divorced, piano was sold, no one looked to me to need the instrument).

won't take much I continue as I am for the end to appear crisp as a beginning. like seasons.

Saturday, July 11

my half brother

Should I explain the long story here? Okay, I won't.  I did rather by accident and recently discover the actual location of the grave of my half brother. My family, you see, is more chards from a broken plate, then something frameable and showable. My half brother was the youngest from my father's first marriage, and being so young when my own parents divorced (my father's second marriage), all I knew growing up is that the baby wasn't something to mention to my father and what I'd learned about him came from the kitchens of women in Pensylvania. I'd assumed the baby had died in another state than in Michigan where I found and I saw his grave last month.

I've spoken with his mother about what happened. He had lived for eight days. The house was full of people, her sister and brother, their spouses, my half sister, neighbors. He lay in a bassinet in the front room. His parents were to have divorced except his mom was pregnant. His father was out with a another woman and not living at home. The baby had had a fever and in 1957 the doctor would tell a new mother to stop breastfeeding and to use more nutritional formula, which his mom had gone to collect from her employer (was a gift). She was only gone not a half hour, and she returned to a house full of people to find he had died.

I found the headstone through find a grave dot com and (I save you the long story) it was by the sincerest accident that I did find the grave. I was never so touched, which is why last month, on my way driving to Michigan to take care of things for my mom, I stopped to see him. His mother refers to him as the baby. She was so kind to speak to me. Very open and certainly far more clear and lucid in her memories than my own mother can be. Yes, my father was repeating the steps of his own dad. Yes, my father was likely a lot worse. He was evil, as one therapist once put it to me.

The stone I found, it turns out,  was the one my father had replaced. Or, he had replaced the original as it had been worn by the weather and details were unreadable. The baby's mother lived in Michigan until 1964, and so she had not been to see the grave since; but, she explained to me, that my father's realization over his ways set him off to atone for things he had done. Replacing the stone had been on my dad's bucket list. The cemetary, Maple Grove in Mason MI, was listed on the historical registry in 1985.

There's nothing else exciting except the inspiration that is here. I'll receive a photo of my bro (it's coming in the mail). poor wee thing.

Here's a link to the stone from the find a grave site. I have my own pictures, but this is what I had found by accident and so....

Friday, December 19

Happy Holidays - Merry Christmas

Geseënde Kersfees
 Gëzuar Krishtlindjet
 عيد ميلاد سعيد
  Շնորհավոր Սուրբ Ծնունդ
 Xoşbəxt Christmas
 шчаслівага Нараджэння
শুভ বড়দিন

Bon Nadal

 Malipayon nga Pasko
Sretan Božić
 Veselé Vánoce
 glædelig jul
 vrolijk Kerstfeest
Feliĉa Kristnasko
 Häid jõule
 Maligayang Pasko
 Hyvää Joulua
 Joyeux Noël
 Bo Nadal
Frohe Weihnachten
Καλά Χριστούγεννα
 મેરી ક્રિસમસ
 Jwaye Nwèl
 m Kirsimeti
  חַג מוֹלָד שָׂמֵח

मैरी क्रिसमस
 Zoo siab heev Christmas
 Boldog Karácsonyt
 Gleðileg jól
 Ezi Ekeresimesi

 Selamat Natal
 Nollaig Shona
 Buon Natale
ಮೆರ್ರಿ ಕ್ರಿಸ್ಮಸ್
 រីករាយថ្ងៃ បុណ្យណូអែល
 메리 크리스마스
Merry ວັນຄຣິດສະມາດ
 Priecīgus Ziemassvētkus
 Linksmų Kalėdų
 Среќен Божиќ
Merry Krismas
 मेरी ख्रिसमस
God jul
  کریسمس مبارک
Wesołych Świąt
 Feliz Natal
 ਮੇਰੀ ਕਰਿਸਮਸ
Crăciun Fericit
 С Рождеством

 Срећан Божић
 veselé Vianoce
Vesel božič
 Feliz Navidad
 Krismasi Njema
 God Jul
 மெர்ரி கிறிஸ்துமஸ்
 మెర్రీ క్రిస్మస్
Mutlu Noeller
 З Різдвом
 میری کرسمس
Giáng sinh vui vẻ
 Nadolig Llawen
 מערי ניטל
Ikini Ọdun Keresimesi
 Jabulela Ukhisimusi

Monday, March 17

Gosh, I haven't been on here in like ... FOREVER

Happy nearly spring. What a crappy, hard knocks winter. I've turned into a bitch and I'm not even up north where I know people I love and miss are cold and aching and dry and tired and working, working, working. Strip come the sun, my friends. Peel it off!

Your stories will be better than anyone anywhere else. Write them down quick before all the snow melts.

My life isn't what I wished for. Nothing close. That statement about being careful what you wish for couldn't be more of a lie in fact. Phooey! Most I can see of myself is that I think I may make it to die okay. There's a house to finally have (to walk inside and drop a bag and sigh deeply in relief because I have a space I belong in; that kind of a thing), and working to pay that off, with beneificaries on this and that (did I spell that wrong? oops!), and that's it. I'd like to have a house to leave to someone.

I am convinced that when I have such a perch I will write the big, fat book. No rush.

Finger's crossed my 140 character poem get's picked up for the anthology. I did win first place for a DRAFT of a poem, "When We Are Old", at the Pamlico Writers Conference, and my poem "What Will Sit You Down" received honorable mention. Was a neat day. I made a prompt friend. (that has two meanings.) There's my poem "July 1973" coming out in the July online issue of the Blue Lake Review. I have more. So, there I go.

Monday, December 9

I about forgot I'm still on here

Finally cracked a low temp in podunk I burned a log in the fire and I discovered Skeeter is a fireside pooch. The one thing to like and the rest has been delay, delay, clobber, clobber. Been struggling at Biblical proportions the calammity (of spelling errors) but of being lied to. I want an attorney to talk to. Food, drinks, the law. hirers get away with too much. simple. Get me out.

for now, a wee bit of really orange warmth....