women's history: take 1

"I get it! March is Women's History Month and you went to a movie about some famous woman. Am I correct?"

You're half-right. Yes, it is WHM! I hadn't realized that's such a recent thing. I was almost 30 when it came into existence. I guess that's one thing that Ronald Reagan did that was good.

"And the thing I'm wrong about?"

I went to a semi-biographical play, over at SavRepTh, not a movie. It was based on the real story of Jennifer Blackmer's mother, who was a stenographer called into service in 1973 to record the debriefings of returning POWs from Vietnam. She was 22 years old.

"1973... wasn't that Operation Homecoming? I was 15 years old and had just started 10th grade at Jenkins High School. So, that makes her just 7 years older than me."

Thereabouts. 'Esther' had already spent some time in the secretarial pool there at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base before she landed that job. She had caught the eye of a 34-year-old officer there, and, to keep her from taking a job in Vietnam, he got her that position to keep her handy. The play spent a bit of time on the courtship of 'Andy' with her. It even covered a fancy dance he took her to, with the focus on the black-tipped, high-heeled, Chanel shoes her mother sent for her to wear!

"I know that was a very special moment! 'Esther' thought she'd be following in her mom's footsteps and become a military wife, too."

Yes, she did, even though the courtship was moving slowly, with 'Andy' truly being an officer and a gentleman and not pressuring the virgin into sex. Later, though, when she came to him distraught over a debriefing she'd heard, he wasn't above plying her with alcohol. Don't get the wrong impression, though. She had to tell him that she was ready to have sex. So, this wasn't a forced situation.

"Well, that's to his favor then. Did he have her move in?"

I don't recall that ever happening. You see, the POW she'd been so upset about? His name was 'Daniel Case'. He turned up outside her apartment four days after his debriefing and she invited him in for some food. They got to talking and realized they had a lot in common with languages. With her it was Plover, the sound-based one used by stenographers to operate the blank black paddles of the little steno machine. For him, it was all wrapped in the poems of e.e. cummings, the man who used his own grammar and punctuation rules. In any case, she and he ended up together in her bed, having a lost night, with him gone in the morning.

"Say what? Just four days after she and the officer had sex?"

Yep. But what she and 'Daniel' had was clearly love-making, to hear her talk. In any case, she ended up pregnant with the daughter who wrote her story. However, before 'Esther' knew that had happened, she'd been called in for interrogation. Why? 'Daniel' had been AWOL when he showed up to her place and someone had seen him in the area. So the military wanted to know why he went to see her and what did they do and what did he say??? It was quite a harrowing thing for the young woman.

"Yes, I'm sure it was. Then she found out she was pregnant and 'Andy' thought he had to marry her, but she went back to her parent's house instead. I'm sure the truth was this: she wanted to believe the baby was the product of her time with 'Daniel'. Perhaps that was even the case. I'd like to think it was."

I agree. I After the play, Carolyn Cook came out to talk with those of us who wanted to know more about the character she portrayed. That's her, on the right, next to Natasha, the producer of this traveling show. You know the most interesting tidbit for me?

"What was that, dear?"

It was when she was asked something about the script. She said it was 44 pages with 168 light cues. Can you believe that??? Wow. 168 light cues!!!

"Oh, I get it. You've run lights for A.C.T.O.R. and the Armstrong Masquers, so you have personal experience with that sort of thing."

That's right! It came up because she was talking about the use of triangles and diamonds in the light patterns on the floor. Those were silent visual cues to move her to where she needed to be and to keep her on track with the story. Just by use of light cues! There were some sound effects, too, to accentuate what was going on. But the light operator - and that would be Justin Bishop - was the one who helped keep her on target. Well, I'm assuming it was Justin. The "program" was a QR code that my reader can't transcribe. I'm hoping Jenn Bishop will send me the URL.

"Was this the play you mentioned a week ago? The one you already bought a ticket for?"

Yes, it is. I'd been drawn in by its sponsorship by the foundation for Abbie DeLoach, one of the young nurses killed in the car wreck in 2015. She was only 21. I'd said at the time that her political uncle would cause a change, and I was right. I guess I have her to thank for the merger of Armstrong with Georgia Southern that led to my retirement in 2018.

"That's all true. Good thing you bought your ticket ahead, as this was a sold-out show. The Vintage Events Center at least has free parking! You know, you still haven't mentioned the name of the play. You're wanting to include the poem on which it's based, don't you? Well, now's the time!"

Here it is!

i carry your heart with me   

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
               i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

smiley face dream?

Left behind 

while everyone else went to New Orleans 

for a chemistry conference, 

we found 

someone had put together a scavenger hunt for us!

We followed clues until the ultimate one: 

find the names 

of the two people 

who starred in the 1973 movie "Who Is This?".

We had a hint: check the 1973 MSDS binder -

nope!

He used his phone and pulled up the movie on IMDB -

got it!

We inserted the name tags 

into the fronts of two side by side drawers in the file cabinet -

and it opened!

Lots of swag inside for us, 

including 2 carnations 

and big salad to eat with chopsticks!

What fun!

Then to check out 

the layered images on the scavenger folder 

for any other clues -

nope!

Just lots of 'bee people' from SNL -

hahahaha!

Now to find a copier to duplicate that cover for both of us!

 

* _ * _ * _ * _ *

 

Then I woke up!

And who was "he"?

Not Scott,

not the bfe,

not the ex, 

not the tour guide, 

certainly none of my brothers! 

He just may have been 

someone who reminded me

of the dog doc

in that episode of "The X-Files"

when the agents are "Rob and Laura Petrie".

 

Perhaps the name of the show

led to 'scavenger file' and 'folder'...

and that last name

placed me into a lab setting...

which makes me wonder:

was the smiley face 

still 

in the morning sky

for that dream?

he saw me dancing in my seat

Even as far back 

as I sat 

there in the pews 

at

Asbury Memorial Church,

he noticed me 

enjoying

their music!

I have to believe

the old pearls

and 

Mother Pat's

Hawaiian dress

with the golden dolphins

helped draw his eye.

That's him

in the lighter-hued shirt

up front,

waiting with the other singer

while the pianist

did a jazz bit

as a solo.

So, who were these

fine fellows for the Portuguese 

concert at this 

Savannah VOICE matinee

concert?

Tiago Matos is the one

who came over to me 

at the reception

to thank me for my

responsiveness

to their ALMO -

Latin for 

"the one who cares".

How very kind of that

baritone

in the plaid vest!

Paulo Lapa -

the tenor in the jacket - and he

were here in Savannah as

students of opera in 2018

under the tutelage of

Sherrill Milnes and Maria Zouves.

Then there's the gent

in the blue shirt,

in the middle of this photo

as well as the earlier one

of the trio,

the fado jazz pianist,

Julio Resende.

Thanks to the SMF,

I am familiar with 

Portuguese fado!

Julio did a quite nice riff on

the Dylan tune,

"Blowin' In The Wind",

in the solo piece he played.

I wonder if that 

was specific to

the concert for us?

Perhaps so!

Jazz musicians do that sort of thing!

And what have I here?

Chopped broccoli and squash,

with a yellow carrot and cauliflower,

topped with tuna and creamy Caesar,

along with asparagus

and toasted pita points.

Much gratitude to Maria Z!

She handed me a plate

and said "take some food home" -

and I grabbed up 

those lovely prepped veggies

and that crunchy pita!

In fact, I have sufficient to repeat this delectable meal

at least three more times.

What an unexpected perk of being a volunteer today!

i thank You, God!

is it live or is it memorex?

"What's that? I seem to recall that was a 'mercial catchphrase, once upon a time."

So it was! Memorex was a brand of magnetic recording tape used for VCRs. 

"So, you've referenced an extinct type of recording medium that was used for an extinct videocassette recorder. Just where are you going with this?"

You're right, I'm showing my age, I guess. It's just that the advertising jingle popped into my head between the time I viewed a recorded concert on youTube and a live concert today. Both were performed at Asbury Memorial Church.

"Ah, now I get it. I'm sure you have photos from both? And that the purpose here is to determine which was from a time in the past and which was from today?"

Correct! Only, I won't make you guess. I'll actually tell you! Will that be okay?

"Sure, toots! You go right ahead."

Thanks, you're a peach. (smile!) Okay, this first image was snapped from the youTube source. This was the inaugural concert for SING, aka Savannah Inspiring Next Generation. That's the first song, "Yonder Come Day", which started with a solo, then became all voices. The concert was performed on January 26 of this year.

"That was after Enzo dumped snow all over town?"

"Correct again. However, that isn't the reason I missed the concert. I already had an event down at Tybee at the same time. No clone, so I went to the one at the beach, as I'd waited for it for several months.

"Oh, yes, the talk about shorebirds."

Yes. Now, notice a few things about that photo. First, there are no audience heads, nor is there sunlight seen in the windows about the group. None of that is from my editing of the photograph, but from the editing work of the recording crew. 

"Yes, I see that. Nice and tight editing, no extraneous stuff."

Here's where the difference really shows. I snapped this photo today of the Spectra Choir performing their annual International Women's Day Concert. Both concerts were 3 PM matinees, so in this photo, the afternoon sun is pouring in behind the group as they sing "What Happens When A Woman Takes Power". The heads of those seated between me and the stage are quite obvious, too.

"I see what your mean! The live shot from today is much more... 'now'... more vibrant... than the one from the recording. It's almost like the difference between an AI-generated image and a real picture."

I hadn't thought of it that way, but you do have a point. My 'live' shot is more... 'messy'... I guess one would say. There's a lot of extraneous stuff that detracts from the focus. Then again, all that messiness is what makes it feel more real, more fresh. Consider this of Teagan, one of the teen girls in SING, performing a Miley Cyrus song, "The Climb". One of the stage cameras was able to set up that angular shot to isolate her from the others.

"I see that. The folks in the audience would have seen only a sea of blue behind her."

Exactly. However, at today's concert, the solo singers came from the audience, not on stage, making them that much harder to see. I took that photo of Jayden Muncy singing Linda Ronstadt's "You're No Good", and doing a mighty fine job of it, but it's clear that I could hardly see her.

"Good thing that she had that red-hued hair! Yes, I see what you mean. I'm sure you were singing right along, too."

You know I did! But once I knew the soloists were seated in the audience, I didn't try to take any more photos of them. I just sat back and enjoyed the music, as well as the poetry.

"Well, as you've noted before, all lyrics are poems."

I stand behind that assertion, too, but that's not what I was referring to just then. There were several in Spectra Choir who recited poetry today. Lila Miller was one of those, performing a piece she wrote called "A Masters Degree In Mirrors". After the concert, at the reception in Holliday Hall, she set up shop, so to speak, behind a manual typewriter, producing "poetry on demand". Simply marvelous!!! When my turn came, she asked what topic I'd like her to use and I told her the first thing that came to mind: baseball. She thought for just a moment, selected a piece of pale blue paper, and started typing as I watched. Incredible!!!

"Oh, wow!!! That's the most cool thing ever!!! What did she write for you??"

Sharp like the diamond

precise, soft but not

     yielding

RUNNING from point

                    to point

(as we discover

                the purpose)

 

     this game, this uniform

 

   smiles bats sweat

joy and rage and the

                    competition

 

     in baseball and life

             a homerun

                    for everyone

 

     and the thrill

            of the win

poetic dragon

Dearest JinHi,

i thank God

you were

where you were

so they could fix you back

up

and send you back

home

to the many

who love you,

including me.

choice of perspective

Sometimes, I need to reboot my consciousness.
After Mama died in 2001, I realized that I had been living my life with her at its center.
All I did, all I experienced, was with an eye toward sharing that aspect of my life with her, to make it real.
I had no idea that she was as much my heart as I was hers.

After she died, I was a zombie for a while, walking through the motions of my life, but rarely truly present.
My sincere apologies to my husband of those years for the many times when I was lost in grief.
My heartfelt thanks to him for the many special moments he gave me during those years.

I discovered that repeating things in the present which I had done, and shared with her in the past, allowed me to regain part of myself.
I made that discovery by a fortuitous event.
My dear friend Sue (the OriWhiGirl) was returning to Okinawa with her two small children and needed assistance for the flight back to her home. Her husband unexpectedly had to return there earlier, due to work requirements. She had asked her family for help, but there had been no takers.
Then she recalled how much I had enjoyed my time while stationed there. Would I consider making the trip with her? They would gladly cover the cost of my plane fare there and back.
All I needed to do was be there to help her with the children.
And so, I had gone with pregnant Sue and toddler Max and almost-toddler Steven.
Whilst there on The Rock, as I had known it, they took me to some of my old haunts. Hanza's elephant cage on the hill. The barracks, NCO club, and theater at Torii Station. Azul, the restaurant I had frequented. Kadena Circle. Okinawa Churaumi Aquarium and the Ocean Expo Park.
What an experience that had been! To go and experience those places again for just myself.
To not be trying to document the experiences for my mother to share with me, vicariously.
That was when I realized that I had just rebooted part of my psyche.
I had visited a place and time from my history and brought it into my present.
That was the summer of 2004.

After that experience, I set about making some other changes in my life.
After Mama's death, chocolate had completely lost its allure for me.
The love of that substance had been something she and I had so enjoyed together.
Chocolate became nearly tasteless, not signaling any pleasure sensors.
After the trip to Okinawa, and the realization of my new dawn, I discovered that custards were my new special treat.
Flans, egg custard pies, creme brulees, coconut custard, lemon custard - all of it!
In the next few years, I also discovered the joys of dark chocolate. Milk chocolate and white chocolate were still blah substances to my taste buds, but the dark chocolate - yeah, baby!

After my divorce in late 2007, I had to find myself again, as a newly-single woman after fifteen years of marriage.
The universe provided me with an opportunity to relive a particularly special time from that period.
One of the best vacations I had while married was to Italy, on an eight-day cruise. That had been my first trip to Rome and was a truly eye-opening experience.
That was when I had discovered how the name "Faustina" had come to exist for my mother (and later, for me). I realized that Grandpa had been the driving influence, with his love of Greek and Roman history.
How did I come to know that?
Jeff and I had been tromping around in the Forum, on our visit to Rome. I had wanted to do that since I was a girl, reading about Roman mythology. So, there we were, tromping around, and he spotted my name.
Carved into the marble mantel above six columns.

It was the Temple of Faustina, built in 141 AD.
Later, it had been renamed The Temple of Antoninus and Faustina, in honor of both her and her husband, Antoninus, Emperor of Rome. They had been very much in love, even after twenty years of marriage and four children. After her untimely death, he had her deified and built the temple, in the heart of Rome, to honor her.
(He also had her image, with her pearl-entwined hair piled high on her head, commemorated on the coins in use, way back then. So many of the commemorative coins were made, in different metals, too, that they are easily available today.)
So what had the universe done to help me regain my sense of self?
In 2012, my third year of teaching full-time, found me flush with funds when an opening arose in the upcoming Study Abroad trip, with nursing students, to Italy.
With three days to be spent in Rome.
Again, I was able to tromp around in the Forum.
Again, I was able to gaze upward at my name, carved into marble, withstanding the tests of more than two centuries of a changing world.
I was even able to share that experience with my ex, to better put it into perspective.
Such an amazing opportunity! Such an amazing experience!

And here we are now.
Ever since the wreck in August, I have been not quite myself. My car was nearly totaled. Although I came away with little physical damage to myself, my spirit suffered incredible bruising.
My friends and family came right to my emotional rescue, keeping me afloat in my sea of sadness, especially needed in that first week or so.
Of course, life then had to get back to normal, for all of us.
I find myself adrift once more.

In the New Hope brought forth by the latest Star Wars mythology, perhaps it is time for me to rescue myself.
I simply need to venture out there and do so.
And to remember that I am still loved by many.
That last bit is the most important.
It is also the easiest truth to lose sight of when living alone.
I am still loved.
By people in my past.
By people in my present.
By people in my future.
I am still loved.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Courageous is the soul, Faustina,
who adventures into time and space
to learn of their divinity.

For while they cannot lose,
they can think they have,
and the loss will seem intolerable.

And while they cannot fail,
they can think they have,
and the pain will seem unbearable.

And while they cannot ever be less than they truly are -
powerful, eternal, and loved -
they can think they are,
and all hope will seem lost.

And therein lies their test.
A test of perceptions:
of what to focus on,
of what to believe in,
in spite of appearances.

YOU, Faustina, are divine -
The Universe

(un)making Christmas

Time to take down the greeting cards
and put them all away
Until the coming
of the next Christmas Day.
Read again the verses,
read again the notes,
store them away,
but remember what they wrote.
The photo cards
move to the fridge.
(Maybe shift that one,
just a smidge!)

The Christmas Santa
that belonged to my Mom
goes back in the wrap
to protect him from harm.
Dragons once more
shall prance and preen
under the branches
of the cherry tree.

Frank's Energizer Bunny
will take its annual rest,
nestled with the Misfits, Elves,
and Rudolph's friends (the best!).
Mama's Christmas photo
(note the orb near her head)
gets swapped back to its box
for the Mother's Day picture instead.

Even this doorhanger -
made for my Granny White -
will find itself stored away
until some December night.
Then all the memories
will be pulled from their boxes
to find new places to shine
(while I wear Christmas socks)!

What about the Christmas tree
which was put up so late?
That, my dear,
will have to wait.
The sunroom is now
closed until spring
when warmer weather's
sweet birds will sing!



My thanks to "Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas", one of my all-time favorites, and especially to Danny Elfman's "Making Christmas" song, for the inspiration for this post.

blue skies up ahead!

Today was a dreary gray day on the road.

I had already had
two dreary gray days
at the beach
and now I was heading home,
along with lots of other
post-holiday travelers.
And we were all riding
under dreary gray skies.
And stopping on the highway.
A lot.
I guess the folks in McDonough, Georgia, had gone to Florida and were now returning home. Bless their pea-pickin' hearts, they absolutely cannot drive. They seem to think that when approaching an exit, you need to STOP, especially if you are in the far left lane and your exit - or somebody's exit - is nearing on the right.
I am being serious here. Anyone who has ever had to drive that stretch of I-75 between Macon and Atlanta can attest to the total lack of driving skills in evidence around those exits for McDonough. On road trips to visit my youngest brother or my BFF, I have taken to driving thirty minutes out of my way so as to avoid those idiots.
Yet, here they were, repeatedly stopping traffic on I-95, on their way out of Florida.
Sigh.
Very disheartening.

I had tried driving along the A1A,
riding along the Atlantic Ocean,
for a while.
But the gray sky
reflected onto the gray water
and the gray beach
and the gray mist
which hung over all.
So,
instead,
I had relented and chosen the interstate for the path home.
And there they were, the horrible drivers from McDonough.
Or perhaps simply their kinfolk.
Sigh.
Stop and go, stop and go.
Seventy miles per hour, then down to zero.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.

Then, a patch of blue sky appeared!
Not upward
- oh, no,
that remained
gray, gray, gray.
But directly in my vision,
straight ahead of me after
switching to my lane -
blue sky!
I'll take it!

I stayed right behind that vehicle and its patch of blue sky until we reached Jacksonville. Then it turned westward and I continued northbound, relaxed and serene.
The McDonough folks?
Who knows! Who cares!
Traffic seemed to cruise along as it should after that, until I was approaching Brunswick.
There, another spate of stop and go resumed.

But what was that pattern on the back of that truck?
Not just gray there...
it was blue!
Definitely blue!
A bit faded, true, yet still visible against the gray metal on its flanks.
And calmness pervaded my body and mind.
I had another patch of blue sky to lead the way home.
Nice.

i Thank You, God.

poetry in motion

leaves
scattered on the sidewalk
like fallen stars

This photo was taken outside the American Red Cross center today. Why was I there, well, it was that time again, folks.
As I was walking toward the entrance, the display of colors and the shape of the leaves struck me as poetic.
I don't think a 1-6-4 syllable scheme qualifies as haiku, but it could certainly be said to be a haiku-like poem.

poetry 2 me

This is for my favorite aunt, T,

I wanted you to know what you mean to me!

I love you so very much

That I am writing in rhyme and such.

When it comes to aunts, there is no contest!

You, Tina, are the best!

Now that you know that you are # one,

all my silly rhyming is done!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wow.
My first niece, Christina Ann, wrote that for me and had inserted it into the Valentine's Day card she gave me today.
I haven't had anyone write a poem to me or for me since my Uncle Jimmy did when I was eighteen years old. My family was down in Waycross, visiting my maternal grandparents, and we were all out in the yard, enjoying a summer evening. The moon was full and the sky was clear, much as it will be tonight.
As I said, we were all outside, and my Uncle had asked me what I thought the moon looked like, in that dark and starry sky. I replied that it looked like a bright, shiny nickel, on a black velvet background. We went on talking about a variety of things, but my description and teenaged enthusiasm lit a fire in his mind and he wrote the poem that evening in the inside cover of one of his literature books from college. I know this, because he gave me the book the next day.
Sadly, I no longer have the book. In a fit of pique about twenty years ago, believing myself to be showing solidarity with my mother and her anger at her brother's actions, I destroyed the book. I tore it up and burned it.
I wish I still had the poem, destroyed so long ago.
I wish I still had my Uncle Jimmy, dead for the past five years.
I wish I still had Mama, gone from my life for thirteen years.
Sigh.
But I do still have my beautiful first niece! And we are here together in one of our favorite places in the world!
Smile!!!
She will soon be out of the shower and we will go to the Valentine's Day party thrown by Barbara and Andrew at the Daytona Beach Regency. Then we'll be off to MOAS for the intaglio and Napoleon exhibits before they vacate the spaces there. And we'll finish the evening at Cinematique, watching "Girl on A Bicycle" and the new Broadway rendition of "Romeo and Juliet", starring Orlando Bloom! Ooh la la!
Later, y'all!

chasing a shattered asteroid, catching sun

Early this morning, around 5:40 AM or so, I rose to take my anti-hypothyroid pill. Actually, I rose to relieve my bladder, but then to take the little lavendar pill with its required cup of water.
When I saw the time, I checked the view outside: no meteor shower met my gaze.
I returned to bed.
I did not return to sleep.
Come on, you know you need to go outside to really look.
It's cold out there and looked cloudy.
No, I definitely saw some stars. You need to look for Orion's belt, then to red Betelgeuse, then stay on that line northward to Gemini. That's where the shower is to be.
I only saw a few stars.
And it's too chilly.
And it's too early in the day.
Or maybe it's too late at night.
I think it was to become invisible again by dawn.
It isn't dawn yet. It's still dark out. You need to go look.
Come on. How often you do get the chance to see meteor showers?
Go look.
You know you want to. It's the Geminid shower. You must.
I must?

So, I did. I dressed warmly, threw on my shawl, and headed out.
I was rather surprised that the night air wasn't cold.
Chilly, sure. But not cold.
That was a good omen.
I walked around, looking up, scanning the dark sky for the cluster known as Orion's belt.
I found the Big Dipper.
It was huge, too, spanning an enormous expanse of dark velvet, as it did in Okinawa.
I walked around toward the ocean, toward an area I knew would not have much light pollution, scanning the sky.
Still no bits of shattered asteroid known as 3200 Phaethon.
Maybe I'll have better luck tonight, I thought.

And as I was gazing toward the star-sprinkled dark above the ever-singing Atlantic Ocean, I paused.
Was that the Milky Way sprawled up there???
No... I think it's just an odd cloud formation... I think.
Look at the wind whipping the air around under that lamp! Wow!

Then I wandered around, enjoying the wind and the solitude. I kept trying to take a photo of the possible Milky Way stretched overhead, but the little camera on my six-year-old phone could not detect anything.
Then I noticed an odd fringe in the sky. What was that?
And the barest glow emanated just south of where I stood on the beach.
Well, why not? I thought.
That must be the start of the sunrise and I very rarely see those.
Why don't I do my own time-lapse photography, using my trusty phone, and see how long it takes for the sun to rise?
And so I did, snapping a new photo, in roughly the same place, every three to four minutes.
The first one in the series was shot at 6:26 AM. The last photo was taken at 6:58 AM.
No alterations have been made.
This was a fun experiment and certainly made it more fun for me to be up so early.
Now - YAWWWWNN - I'm going back to bed to await a more seemly hour.

time to go to bed

The owl outside my window is like a demented alarm clock,
urging me to go to bed.

hoot hoot
it's late
hoot hoot
go to sleep
hoot hoot
hoot hoot

I hit the "not yet" mentally -
then the delay passes
and the owl again urges me to sleep, to sleep, it's late.

straight on till morning

As Peter Pan told Wendy, that's how you get to Neverland.
But that is not where I was bound this morning.
As I told folks, I was off to visit my youngest brother in north Georgia.
But I had stayed in a motel overnight.
As I told folks, he didn't have a place where anyone could stay overnight.
But his birthday was coming and I wanted to see him.

There have been far too many deaths this year of those I know.
Since the sixth of July, five people in my life are no longer on this planet of sunrises and sunsets.
Since the sixth of July, I have lost three family members, a work colleague, and the father of a close friend.
For my youngest brother's birthday, I wanted to hug him at least once.
This was the first time this year that I could visit him.
This may well be the only time this year I will be able to visit him.

To visit him this one time, I drove for six hours.
I waited for more than two hours in the cold of a mountain morning before it was my turn to enter the security room.
I had fortunately brought a jacket and worn socks with my shoes.
I already knew I was not permitted to wear shorts or a dress.

I had arrived at 8:55 this morning, knowing that visitation would open at 9 AM.
After waiting in line, outside in the chill breath of the mountains, I signed in on the visitors' log at the security room at 11:16 AM.
By the time I entered the visitation room, the time was 11:30 AM.
"Count" was in full swing and I would not see him until after it was completed at 1 PM.
I sat there and cried.

I had hoped they would permit him to come earlier.
After all, he was the crew leader who had installed the new tile throughout the visitation center.
He was the one who had suggested laying the tile on the diagonal in the visitation room.
He was the one who implemented that design, brightening the space where families and friends shared time.
I had hoped he, and therefore I, would receive special consideration on this first visitation day this year.
I had hoped.

Eventually, when it became obvious that it would be at least 1 PM before I would see him, and knowing visitation would still end at 3 PM for all there, I determined to make the best of this horrid situation.
I had already bought hot wings and a sloppy joe sandwich from the vending machines.
I had planned ahead and brought my twenty dollars' worth of quarters in a clear ziploc bag.
I decided to go ahead and heat the food before he came out, so our time together would not be spent with me waiting in line for use of one of the two microwaves.
So our time together would be time together.

Of course he arrived in the doorway just as my turn finally came for the microwave.
The woman behind me held my place as I rushed to greet him.
Then he waited in the yellow chair until I could join him.
I sat in the black chair after getting one more hug.
I had left my glasses in the other black chair while I was in line at the microwaves.
More visitors were coming in and I wanted to hold our spot.
I had the seats we usually used for our visits, near the front and center.
It was good to be able to sit there with him and talk.

He had not known I was coming.
He had not yet received the letter in which I wrote that I was, for sure, coming for this first visitation weekend this year.
I had mailed it earlier that week, but Columbus Day had interfered with its passage to him.
It had not arrived there in time for the last mail delivery on Thursday.
He was surprised and happy that I had come to see him.
He was more surprised and happier that I had come to see him for his birthday.

I had surprised him with a birthday visit last year, too.
That had been a happier occasion and we had visited for five hours.

Our visit this time was not quite two hours.
I know that he prefers to not be part of the mass strip search after the visitors leave.
I know he prefers that we part just a little earlier so he can have a less-stressful strip experience.
When the guard announced that visitation was ending in thirty minutes, we began our goodbyes.
When the guard announced that visitation was ending in fifteen minutes, we stood for our last hugs.
Definitely plural hugs.
Then I left and retrieved my jacket.
Then I retrieved my keys and driver's license from the security room.
Then I sat in my warm car and drove away, drove south back to the main highway.
There I bought food and stopped just long enough to check in with the first niece, the peace Guy, the bff.
Then I drove nonstop back to my own driveway.
I checked in once more with those three who know and love me.

And I feel better now than I have felt for some time.

light for the way

I was going through some of the papers in the bag from the funeral home. I no longer wanted that bag, with its remembrance of Mama's death, and wanted it out of my life. The bag had been passed along to me after my stepdad's death.
Death, death, death.
So, I'm reading the book the funeral home had given to our family. The book contains the signatures of folks present at the visitation, signatures of folks present at the funeral, names of those who had sent flowers.
Sigh.
Tucked in with all of that sadness was this poem. I copied it when I wrote to my youngest brother in north Georgia and thought I was done with it.
Then I thought I might want to keep it handy.
So, here it is.

*** *** *** *** ***
What God Hath Promised

God hath not promised
Skies always blue,
Flower-Strewn pathways
All our lives through;
God hath not promised
Sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow
Peace without pain.

But God hath promised
Strength for the day,
Rest for the labor,
Light for the way,
Grace for the trials,
Help from above,
Unfailing sympathy,
Undying love.

by Annie Johnson Flint

con amor, desde el cielo

As i was waiting for the bfe to join me for lunch and a play, i lifted my eyes skyward, as i so often do.
And a message from beyond was written for me.
A message of love, still, always.
I had noticed the swiftly racing clouds earlier, rain makers leaving town for other environs, racing, racing to arrive on time to the next area due for a soaking.
Now, there was a message writ for my eyes! Could I capture it forever, to share with others, to read again and again? Would the message dissipate before i could even open my phone and take aim?
Oh, please!!!
Please stay for just a few seconds!
And the message did, barely managing to maintain its integrity, to preserve the delicate lace doily of a heart occupying the massive portion of sky above me as the air swirled around it.
I don't think Mama knew how to tat.
Maybe it was crocheted from those stray wisps of water vapor...
for me, from her, as another Mother's Day apart draws near.

sometimes

Sometimes, the air is just too heavy.
This has been one of those times.
Caught in the vortex between the death of a dear friend and the death of my father, four years ago.

Sigh.

I so desperately need to sit and be held, to feel the warmth of a sympathetic shoulder and chest against my back, to feel the warmth of loving arms drawing me close.

sigh

Maybe I should plan on entering the Poetry Slam on Friday.
Even though I won't be held, I will get to loose some of this heavy air.
My heavy air merging and dissipating into the musings of others.
Maybe.

Spring is coming!

This afternoon, as I was rambling around, dreaming of warmer days,
dreaming, dreaming,
there appeared in the expanse of dried brown
a sea of waving green pennants, staggering about.
And shining like a star in the midst of those green spires,
-like a STAR, I tell you!-
was a solitary daffodil.
Never you mind what groundhogs may forecast:
Spring is on its way!

impossible things

For Mama to be able to sing with me, one more time.

For Daddy to tell me one more joke.

For my stepdad to discuss Sumerian mythology with me, one more time.

For my Grandpa to play devil's advocate with me in a debate, one more time.

For Grandmama to have one more adventure with me, betwixt hither and yon.

For my Uncle Jimmy to write one more poem inspired by our conversation about the moon, the stars, the clouds.

For my friend SamJ to plan our next trip to Dragon*Con or Universal Studios or Applebees again with me.

For Mother Pat to share her latest trip to Vegas or Hawaii or Tennessee with me, one more time.

Just one more time.


I do get so very soul-tired of wanting impossible things.
Tomorrow, I'll go see "Groundhog Day" at my favorite theatre.
And I'll wish I had that magical power, to retrace times past and share new moments with loved ones gone, gone, gone.
Impossible things.

for the effervescent JinHi

If I were a fairy godmother,
I would wave my magic wand,
And all cancerous growths would be removed from your body and banished forevermore.
Alas, I am not.
If I were the world’s most talented doctor,
I would wield my skillful scalpel against the cancer dragon
And it would lie vanquished beneath your foot, never to rise again.
Alas, I am not.
I am a friend who holds you dear.
I am a friend who has held you dear for a long time
And want to continue to do so.
I am.
Whatever you want me to do,
to make you smile,
to make you laugh,
to make you sing and dance,
I will do.
I take special requests,
from special friends.

can't fix broken

Last weekend, as I was driving under the blue sky and allowing my brain to make sense of life, I had a moment of recognition.
I am still a control freak.
I keep trying to get better and I keep thinking that I am.
But I realized I am still a control freak.
You see, I've been doing my bfe a disservice by viewing him as a person with a whole heart.
But he is not.
And I cannot fix that.

I didn't take his heart and run away with it.
Someone else did.
I gave him a piece of my heart to mend his.
That is not how it works.
I know this.
Broken hearts cannot be mended from the outside.

You would think I would have learned that by now.
Especially as I have loss adjustment as an ongoing process.
Especially.