Tag Archives: writing

While He is Gone, I am Missing Him and Loving Him in spite of my goals not to

the touch of his fingers kneading my white parchment skin on my arm

made soft by hours of working in cocoa butter

just in case touch came my way.

Social events, wars, and fun times unrelated to a significant other and will he even care when he returns from his great adventure?

I see him when he is not here; I hear his voice and I know loving in older age is not easy nor quick for me.  I was afraid; he was afraid.  I am less afraid now, he has been gentle and kind.  Kindness is such an important virtue, it is to be prized next to love but I did not choose to write about kindness and is kindness love?  Kindness seems to be the action and love the emotion; kindness is also about spirit and it shines through when we have it.  His eye color is green, very light and I never see it because the spirit draws me when we talk.

Having a conversation with him inside my head continues.

Will we have a relationship when he returns?

Is it possible for me to have a relationship while he is in absentia?

What would he answer?

For me, he is a constant object.  Whether he loves me, I do not know.

Loving him and being alive to the loving seems to be the most important thing for me.


I Love You Eighteen Years and Beyond

I saw you last in August; less than five weeks and your body has changed to be even more man-like; how can that happen?  I know you have been saying you are a man for the last year and I have agreed with you and now you really show it.  You amaze me.

To know your birthday is a week away is a further revelation.  To know you set a new PR with your sport is another.  This year is proving to be as exciting as I remembered with your mother.  Senior year goes by so very fast.  Your goals are being accomplished all at once it seems; but I remember.  I remember all the hard work, dedication and objectives needed to reach this stage and age.  Even when I do not tell you, I have seen all that you have done to get to this place.  Thank you for sharing your life with me.

When that “true” birthday comes; I want you to know I have loved you since before you were born.  I love in a way like no other.  My eyes fill with tears as I think about all the many things we have enjoyed together and the other events of life to come this year and beyond.  What a companion you are to me.  On my darkest days, I pick myself up, dust off my shoes and begin walking again because I can see your face so clearly.

When you are an old man or a middle-aged man and I am no longer with you on this earthly realm; remember how I loved you.  There will be stories to undergird this truth and I may tell them to you or write them; I have not decided.  What I do plan to do to the best of my ability is to do what I can do to give you a good start in life.  For me, that means support for your parents especially your mother.  For me, it means giving up the past and focusing on the future.  For me, it also means warning you that people do not change much in their lifetimes and you will not know this for years to come.  My hope and prayer is that you will take care of yourself in the meantime as you grow up.

I want to tell you about some personal characteristics I see which I admire:  one, your ability to hold your own with your peers and be a leader, your wit (even when it is at my expense), your sense of fairness and love of our Mother Earth and your willingness to be by my side and seemingly not embarrassed to be seen with your elder.  Secondly, the fire in your belly, which I think most people do not see; and I attribute just a tiny bit to being a part of me.  The me who was never quite satisfied, who did not want just to be a secretary, or a wife, or even have one degree but who still strives to be at the top of the mountain because, as you know, that is where the view is the most beautiful.  Thirdly, while I think I know your genetic makeup pretty well; I agree with your mother, it is nurture which has been and will continue to be just as important to you personally as nature.  Biology gave you length, determination gives you strength.  Your DNA made you tall, your integrity makes you large in life as well as in my heart.  And lastly, even though your parents disagree with me, I think you do have an obligation to your family.  I will modify it and say you will discover it as you grow older and it may very well be to the family you procreate which will be your penultimate lifetime achievement; it certainly has been for me.

So, when I say I love you; I mean I am committed to your welfare, both now and in the future.  I have concentrated on helping you to “fish” so you can feed yourself.  I hope you know that I know you can do it and I will always watch with interest to see how and in what fashion you choose.  I also have a good idea you will try your best not to have your lifestyle set by others’ values but already have your own.  Your code may have to be modified a little but I think like your mother and me, it will not change much.  It will be the thread which runs through your life; a gold ball you will need to follow wherever it may lead.

While I wax eloquent on this time in your life, know I wrote it with tears in my eyes and I love you so very much.

I Love You, Blogger of MinD

I wish you were my mate and we could

share all the words we dream

of each day and hear them from one who truly understands

and appreciates

and aggon-ates over words

and feelings about logi

and wants to urp it

and give it away

and then, I would know that

delicious time of two minds

as one

not exactly like love

but very close

so close in fact

it might be a higher good than love.

One no one could take or leave

come or go

a firm commitment

no matter what

to the page and the

lines written there indicating

dragonista 1
from Oregon, with love…

the ones to be written from my heart

through my blood pulsating

towards the neurons in the ends of

my fingertips as I like all those before

me try

to put into words

the pictures I see in my mind.  And, to know,

you are doing it, too, dear blogger.


The door was not locked.

He told me to stay in bed.  I was a toddler.  When he left; I told Blackie, the dog, to STAY.  I opened the wood and mesh screen door and kept it from creaking.  I did not want my mother to wake.  She would be mad.  He had said to take care of her.  I thought that meant do not wake her up, do not make any noise and she will not be angry.

How lucky was I?  Playing outdoors until the middle of the afternoon without lunch, I was dusty and thirsty and hungry.  The other kids in the neighborhood had shared their food with me.  Too young they were to know I was a toddler and needed regular infusions of water to keep me hydrated.  As the buses began to roll by on the other streets, the children put away the marbles they had won.  One of the big boys made certain I got the ones I brought as well as my takings from the morning.  I do not remember his name.  He was twice as large as I was so he was probably four or five.  All these children had not gotten to the age where school ruled their daily lives; usually around age six in our county.  No harm ever came to me that I recall.  When everyone left, the big boy told me to go home.  Since my mother was still sleeping, angry or gone to get more cigarettes, I walked over the hill to the woman I knew as grandmother.  I knocked on her door.

It was locked.  A short, petite gray-haired lady came to the white door; oh, my, where have you been, Baby?  You are very dirty.  Come in and we will get a bath, a nap and I will peel you an apple when your Daddy gets here.  Where have you been?  Have you been out all day?

Writing Daily re: Anne Lamott

My favorite quote of Anne’s has to do with the story of her brother learning the 50 states and birds. He said to the family:  “how can I learn 50 states and all the things the teacher has asked me to do.”Her father pointedout to him “of course, you can’t do 50 at once.” “You do them“bird by bird.”

It is interesting to me how a parent says a phrase or a statement to a child and it sticks.

One of my father’s which was similar:  “Dad, how do you plant tomatoes?”  “One at

a time” he replied.  “A tomato needs an exact planting.  A hole is dug, the water

is poured into the soil, the plant is dropped into the hole and can immediately

suck up some water and then the dirt needs to be heaped exactly around the stem

to give it support but not so tightly that it will break.  The plants are placed at

a certain pace; you have to imagine putting the sticks in later.  As summer comes

on and the fruit becomes ripe, you will need the stick and the rope to keep the

tomatoes high and off the ground.  A rotten tomato is a tomato on the ground.”

This is my motto for the now of my life.
There is paint stuck to the patio door and it needs cleaning
and scraping. I write because I made a plan to get to my goal of being published. The paint job was a very good one; not spotless. If it were truly great, I would not be sitting here:
“counting birds.”   I would be back to clearing up the paint messiness.  And, the writing would not have occurred.

Each time I write, I find a small breath of release. A sign escapes through my pale pink lips. For the moment,
I am not a worried mother of a woman with a high risk pregnancy, nor a widow and my dog is not disabled.
I play with words, trying to remember all I have been
learning and reading.

I started with re-reading Flannery O”Connor this week. To me, her stories
are explanations for how we pick and choose our values and then live those decisions out by our life-style.
Having an excellent text before me; I am inner-driven to put
these words on paper. I have placed pad and pen by the
bed and near my desk. When I like a catchy phrase or get
a new thought like “grandmothers don’t bite, do they?”
I can think about it. Mull it over like an almond touching my tongue and exuding its odor in my mouth pervading my sense of taste.

I am also physically “rocking”. I have found when I am in my old oak rocker with rounded arms; I have visions of my favorite relative, Aunt Maggie. How hard her life was; how long she would laugh with my father.   While standing with our family at her bedside in the last month of her life, she was laughing. While she and my father had many travails and illnesses, they were gifted with deaths coming at a time when they were still “themselves”. Perhaps, being illiterate like they were, helped them to do it: “bird by bird.”

I refused to go to a grief group today. I felt like I was emotionally denying the group as in my working life, I
had experience with these groups. I do not want to be
defined by widowhood. I want to be the person I am
becoming without his being with me.

My, my, all the things that have come and gone in the five
months since his death: we are back to full-scale war,
Ebola is on our shores and he will miss seeing the new comedy with Fluffy as a star. My husband would have been distressed by Robin Williams’ death. The roiling stock market would have consumed his days. We would have taken short walks with the dog. As the days are getting grayer, we would have read for at least two hours every evening. I read the newspaper and the Economist. I start the day with the Guardian. I wonder what he would think or say. Then, I move on because there is no way to understand. When he stepped through the veil to join our daughter, he is no longer known to me as I am no longer known to him. Our journeys have separated.