Dec 29, 2008

My Father

(My father died January 21, 1973. He was 57 years old. I was 26. The following was written some 13 years later. I have edited it a bit but it still reflects how I feel about my father.)

My father died when I was 26 and I remember being upset that I wasn't upset. My father took a long time to die maybe three years. He died because he wanted to, not because he had to. Sometimes I think my father never really lived; was never really happy; didn't know what happiness was.

When I think back I realize my father never talked about what his life was growing up. I don't know what kind of child he was or what his dreams were. I don't know what his disappointments were. I didn't know him at all. But when I remember him I remember only happy things, quirky things, funny things. My father was very funny, sometimes in a very dry sarcastic way, sometimes very slapstick, but mocking, always mocking. I wonder how my father saw the world?

My father was. He was unto himself. He was an only son with five sisters; an Italian prince. He ruled the kingdom of the Torre family. When Jerry spoke everyone listened, everyone, that is, except his daughter. At one of the family funerals (his mother's or his sister's, I don't remember which) my mother fainted and I took her to the lounge. Some of my father's cousins came down to tell me "Jerry wants your mother upstairs". I told them to tell my father my mother wasn't coming back upstairs until it was time to go home. They looked at me aghast. "We can't tell him tell him that" they said. "All right, I'll tell him myself". And they all trailed me upstairs, wanting to see what would happen when someone told Jerry "No". When his response was "Oh, alright", they stood amazed. The heavens didn't open; I was not struck by lightning. You see, I was the only person who could tell my father "No". More than loving me (and I know my father loved me more than anyone) my father respected me. I was so much like him. I would fight for what I thought was right and what was my right. But I fought as he fought, quietly. I don't know who dubbed me the "quiet rebel", perhaps my father, but I am like he.

My father was a most precise man. If you were to do something, then do it right or not at all. My father was a very good cook, and when he cooked, he cooked. Sauerbraten must be marinated three days in a crockery pot in a cool, dark place and so it was. I had to remember to go to the basement several times a day and turn the meat. Catsup was an abomination and rarely appeared on our table. Roast beef was only to be eaten at an exact state of rareness with au jus gravy, salt, pepper and nothing, I mean nothing, more. I didn't know what brown gravy was until I was in my twenties.

My father owned a deli for a while. If someone ordered a roast beef sandwich, my father would offer salt, pepper, perhaps some lettuce. If anyone dared ask for mayonnaise, mustard, or God forbid, catsup, that was the end of the sale. He simply wouldn't do it. He would carefully explain that this was the finest beef money could buy and no one would ruin his beef. They could take the sandwich the way he prepared it or they could go somewhere else. Everyone in the neighborhood knew my father and they acquiesced meekly.

Or liverwurst. Now liverwurst cannot be sliced thin and when you wrap it you put it in small irregular stacks so it won't meld back into itself. People who asked for "liverwurst, sliced thin" went home with liverwurst roll. My father would slice it, make one big stack, then lean on it while he wrapped it. My father was 230 pounds; do you know what that did to the liverwurst?

My father was a truck driver for a beer company. I don't know why he chose to be a truck driver. Perhaps because as such he had no boss, no one leaning over him giving him orders. He was his own man. But I'm telling you, he was the smartest, best-educated truck driver you will ever meet. My father read and instilled in his children (at least me) a love of reading and knowledge. We could never get through one meal without the table being littered with dictionaries and encyclopedias. It drove my mother crazy. If we made a statement, we had to prove it. If we used a fancy word, we had to define it. And if we couldn't then out came the dictionary, right then and there.

And language, we were taught to use it correctly. My favorite example is when I asked my father to bring me a "cold glass of water" from one of his trips to the kitchen. When he came back, no water. "Daddy, where's my water?" He said "the glass is in the refrigerator, chilling. You did ask for a cold glass of water, didn't you" I caught on quickly "O.K., Pop, you know what I meant. " "Well then next time, say what you mean". If you said you were going "over" someone's house, he would ask if you were taking a helicopter. Always my father was teaching. I suppose I got away with a lot, but never bad grammar, inaccurate language, flamboyant statements or unconsidered opinions. People say I'm a perfectionist. People get angry because they say I am always right. Not so, I am simply my father's daughter. I think before I speak and I do things the only way I know how, the right way. Like my father.

It's not to say my father didn't have some major character flaws. He did. But they made him more unhappy that they made any one else. He died because of them. As the years go by, I resent my father for dying. He didn't have to. How might my life have been different if he had lived.

Somehow I believe he would have saved me from all the bad decisions I've made; he would have protected me from them. He wouldn't have let all these bad things happen. My brother wouldn’t have moved to Florida, so far away from me. I don't know why I think that. My father never interfered in my life. My decisions were mine to be made and the price to be paid.

I resent that my father died; that he wanted to. We hardly talked, he and I. Because we were so much alike, though different in our opinions, every conversation was an argument. But how I learned from those arguments. Time would have mellowed my youthful arrogance, but my father took that time away from me.

I was never aware of loving my father. And now, I am aware of nothing else. That big bear of a man with the twinkling eyes that mocked the world around him. I wish I knew what made him so unhappy; I wish I knew him; I wish I had the wisdom then that I have now. I wish my father hadn’t left so soon.

Dec 19, 2008

It's a drab day and sadness prevails

I think it's the isolation that is getting to us. Even tho I am out of the house 5 mornings a week I still feel lonely and isolated. Even tho George is the least social of people I believe he is feeling it too - when he worked in an office (instead of the basement) he could interact with people if he so chose - he didn't very often but he could.

I was never a Christmas person but George was always happy to see it come - not this year. Center City is a walk and train ride away, really doesn't take all that long to get there but it is an effort we can't seem to make. This year I sent a check to charity because we were not all over the place putting lots of money in the Salvation Army kettles. Philadelphia is surrounded by suburban malls and we just don't see any reason to rent a car and go to one - not having a car here is a bit confining. When we lived in Alexandria we didn't use the car much but we could easily hop into Old Town or down the road to one mall or another when the mood struck us. I think if truth be told, we both regret this move.

Last year we were invited to a friend's house for Christmas and what a delight that was. Sharon decorates her house so amazingly. You should see her tree - OMG - it looks like a team of professionals did it instead of one tiny little lady. Her home is a holiday winter wonderland - Amazing. And she does it all herself. Blows me away. I'm missing that - all my friends. (Give me a moment here I'm tearing up).

Christmas when I was a kid was always horrific - the mother saw to that. So I'm not a Christmas person but I have always enjoyed giving gifts - that's fun. Getting them is fun too, of course. I mailed or had sent, gifts to my friends, not getting any in return, so what, but still...Not getting anything from George because, well, there is nothing I need or want and there are no little goofy shops around here, or if there we haven't found them yet, so no little goofy presents. George is getting clothes and another thing or two...I think he would curl up in a little ball and cry if he didn't get a least a present or two, even if they are clothes.

This place is never going to be anything close to home -

I got this message from the Universe this morning:

Oh, yes indeed, Grace, another holiday season is upon you, and so it is here, so I bet you're wondering what I'd like as a present. Right?!

Well, since there's already peace on earth (for those who look), since there's already goodwill toward all (mine and yours for starters), and because Grace is already in the world (took long enough), how about, if I may ask, we talk a little more often? You lean on me a bit more? You expect a few more miracles? And we never stop to look back?

Is that asking too much?

I'm there anyway,
The Universe


I need a miracle

Dec 14, 2008

Are you the teacher?

This is the question I get at the senior center where I volunteer. For some reason I have a problem saying yes. I respond by saying I am the new volunteer to help them with any questions they have about computers. But yes, I am teaching and they are so happy to be learning. I qualify for membership at the center (I am 62) yet I see myself myself as so much younger. These charming folks are in their 70's and 80's. I feel it is disrespectful to their years and experience to call myself their teacher.

If you think technology has taken over our lives and we need to cut back, think again. There is a very elderly gentleman that comes into the computer room every day. He says nothing to anyone and does not respond when spoken to. He turns on a computer and surfs the net - he has a little notebook with the urls for various web sites. Last week he seemed to be having a problem and moved to another computer. I walked over and asked him if he needed any help. He looked at me quizzically and then shouted "I can't hear" and pointed to his ears in which he had hearing aids. Ah, I thought that's why he never interacts with anyone. "Write it down" he shouted. So we communicated by notes and I got him up and running on another computer and also showed him how to shut off the computer properly. On his way out he said "These computers are wonderful. It's opened a whole new world for me". Is that not a total "wow" moment? This gentleman is easily in his 80's and here he is learning something new, something so many of us take totally for granted. I've been working with computers for close to 40 years. I take them for granted. For this gentleman, and for so many of the people I work with at the center, computers and the internet are opening up the world for them. I am just blown away by these folks. I love talking with them and helping them. Teaching? I don't know. Maybe we are just sharing.

When I was a kid I wanted to be a teacher. I played teacher; I day dreamed about being a teacher. I don't know why. I don't know what the fascination was. Several years ago there was a big upheaval in my life and I wailed that everyone got what they wanted, with my guidance and insight, and I got none of what I wanted. I was told "Maybe that is your place in life - to teach". Nice thought, I suppose, but not when I was looking down a dark tunnel with no light in sight.

I still don't think of myself as a teacher - of anything. I have always said there was no point in gaining knowledge if you don't share it. I like to think of myself as a "sharer" not a teacher. I love learning new stuff - really, it gives me the giggles when I learn something new. Sometimes I'm proud of myself for mastering a new skill and sometimes it's just the joy of new knowledge and new understanding. What a high when everything comes together and connections are made. Makes me dance.

Am I the teacher? Is that my assignment in this life? I know so little, how can I be a teacher? I am the sharer - I like that. I can relate to that. Whether it is computers, or something metaphysical - I share what I have learned; what I know. One of the seniors said "You have so much patience" Me? Yes, I guess so. It's something I've learned, trust me, no one ever said that before.

Maybe my life had been about that then - I learned patience and now I can share what I have learned. It brings me great pleasure and seems to be helpful to others. A win-win situation. Guess I just have to trust the Universe to guide me. I wonder what other gifts the Universe has for me?

Nov 23, 2008

It just occurred to me...

Skeptics always comment, "If psychics can see the future then how come they aren't picking the winning lottery numbers?" Well from my personal experience, psychics can't/don't have insight into something that is completely chance.

If I am reading someone I can tell them what is going to happen based on the path they are on RIGHT NOW. If they change their path, then they will be changing what happens in the future. I believe the only thing that is beyond change is our death.

I've had people tell me "But it didn't happen like you said" and my response is "What did you change?"

I do remind people that what I see is based on the energy that is being generated NOW; based on the choices they are making NOW; based on the direction they are going in NOW. Change any of those things and you change the outcome.

I don't know why that never occurred to me before.

Nov 4, 2008

Can I just smack these smug nasty little bitches?

I, like so many of you, have been hassled and harassed by all these young people huckstering for the Democrats. For weeks, nay, months I haven't been able to walk anywhere without being accosted.

I do not discuss my political point of view with strangers. I don't want their flyers or pamphlets - I read 2 newspapers a day, I think that is sufficient to keep me aware of the state of the world, don't you? I am more than a little adept at on-line research; if I have a question, I know how to find the answer. I even know how to do research at the library!

When I return the flyers etc to the young females, I get nasty comments - such as "I guess you're not a Democrat" "I guess you just don't care" - these nasty little bitches guess a lot, and they would be guessing wrong in most cases. I want to smack them so bad. Interestingly, it is never the MALE campaigners/canvassers who catch an attitude. They are pleasant and gracious. It's the females who are nasty.

Also interesting, I have never been approached by a Republican. Are there no Republicans in Philadelphia? I have seen no McCain-Palin material stuck in my door. Haven't received any in the mail - I thought Pennsylvania was supposed to be a major state to win - it doesn't include Philadelphia?

Anyway, why are the young male campaigners/canvassers so nice and why are the females such nasty little bitches?

Oct 25, 2008

Thank you for your comments

I'd like to thank everyone for their thoughtful responses to my post on forgiveness. I think I shall remove that particular word from my vocabulary. I do not think it is necessary.

I think we all agreed that people do "not nice" things and they vary greatly in their level of harm. We all are thoughtless, rude, and unpleasant at times and most of the time these actions require only a "Dude, that was uncool" and an honest apology; the relationship continues.

Then there are actions that are beyond the pale; reprehensible even. In those cases we remove those people from our lives.

We all agreed that hanging on to anger is self-defeating and that we are responsible for our own actions and our own feelings.

I think perhaps we all had a particular person or situation in mind when spoke about this, I know I did. I needed to know that I am not alone in my thinking and feeling. I honestly don't feel guilty about putting some people out of my life, sad perhaps that it was necessary, but finally, not guilty.

Oct 23, 2008

Forgiveness

"Forgiveness is typically defined as the process of ceasing to feel resentment, indignation or anger for a perceived offense, difference or mistake, and ceasing to demand punishment or restitution" (Wikipedia).

I don't get forgiveness. I understand what it is to forgive a monetary debt - you no longer owe the money, but forgiveness in any other sense, I don't get.

Someone does a shitty thing, depending on the level of shittiness, you either shrug your shoulders and say "Oh, well" or you walk away and say "I do not want to have anything to do with such a person".

If the process is defined as ceasing to feel resentment, indignation or anger, then this has nothing to do with the person who offended and everything to do with the person who was offended.

If I act in a negative way and hurt someone, and regret it wholeheartedly, then I have to come to terms with myself. Analyze the whys and wherefores of my actions and make a conscious decision never to act that way again. Should I apologize? Of course. If there is a material way to to mitigate the results of my action, certainly that should be done. But do I need the person I hurt to say "I forgive you". No, I don't. They are responsible for their feelings and I am responsible for mine.

If they want to continue to feel hurt, that is their prerogative. They are not responsible for my actions, I am.

And conversely, if someone has hurt or wronged me in some way, I have to deal with how I feel towards them; they have no control over how I feel. It is up to me to deal with my negative feelings towards them. My actions are my responsibility; my feelings are my responsibility. Carrying around negative feelings is truly burdensome, but only I can relieve myself of that burden, no one else can.

Do I say to the person who hurt me "It's okay, I forgive you"? Well, you know what, it is NOT okay. It is not okay to harm someone, and 3 words do not change the situation.

What's done is done. If it was some silly thing, well, stuff happens, I don't know about you, but personally, the last time I looked there were no wings on my back or a halo over my head. I like to think I have never hurt someone on purpose, but I'm sure I have done or said things that caused others pain. And if I was sorry, I hoped I apologized. If I felt bad, I hope I learned a lesson and never repeated that action again.

So before this gets any more convoluted and I really start repeating myself - what is forgiveness?

Have I ever been hurt or wronged? Yes, majorly. How I feel about it, and how I feel towards that person, is my responsibility to deal with. It is their responsibility to deal with how they feel about what they did.

It is up to me to let go of the anger because long-held anger is so damaging. Only I can stop myself from being angry. I am responsible for my soul, and the person who acted badly is responsible for theirs.

So perhaps then we can only forgive ourselves.

Oct 15, 2008

Music is Magic

People say “Stop and smell the roses”; I say “Stop and listen to the music” but don’t really stop because if there is music then there is movement, there is dance.

Music is everywhere, all the time. You just have to listen. Okay, there is the obvious music – leaves rustling, birds, squirrels chattering; and the sound of the wind. Some of you may hear the music of traffic – different cars make different sounds, even the rhythm of a line of cars going over a speed bump. The cacophony of honking horns, some with high notes, some with low added to the revving of motors – the varoom, varoom and the bleat, bleat – can you feel the beat?

And the magic? I’m always playing music in my head – it’s not imaginary music, it’s real – I hear it, and dance to it. Did you ever watch people walking on a busy street – they are all walking in different rhythms, and don’t you add the melody to the beat – in your head? If you are part of that crowd, don’t you pick up the rhythm and walk along to it: sharing the music, sharing the rhythm. There’s magic in that. In that moment in time you, and all those other people, are communicating, sending, back and forth, calling out to each other, call and response. It’s magic.

I love the music of the city. There’s a church nearby whose bells toll each hour; the Mr. Frosty truck that comes by each afternoon, the sound right this minute of a car going by outside the house – first a low swoosh that crescendos and fades; loud trucks, soft cars; some take longer to fade, and I sway to the swoosh.

People remind me of songs – That song and that person will forever be connected in my mind. Some times it’s their song I hear. The song that is THEM; that is their heart beat, their life force dancing through their body and brain.

We are music. The first sounds we hear are music – the beating of our mother’s heart; of our own. The low notes – we hear them first. Warm, dark, comforting. Rhythm – babies love the rhythm – rock them and they are soothed; swing them gently back and forth; our earliest memories, our first memories, are musical – rhythm and melody. The beat of the heart, the melody of the movement of the fluid we float in...our first memories. We share these memories, tho different rhythms and different melodies, and sing out to each other – hear me, hear my music.

Listen - the world is never silent, nor are we. Clear your mind and then listen – can you hear your song? Can you hear mine?

Sep 23, 2008

This blog is tending towards the mystical lately

"May today there be peace within. May you trust the Universe that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content knowing you are a child of the Universe. Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us."

Sep 20, 2008

Wherever you go, that's where you are

I was sitting at my desk this afternoon, the same desk I have had for 12 years, typing away on my computer and when I looked up I thought "Where am I". I wasn't sure right away, was I in Alexandria, no, wait I'm in Philadelphia. It's all the same to me. Now that thought intrigued me.

It seems that now it doesn't matter where I am - everywhere is just a place. I seem to have lost all attachment to places, or even things. We bought this house but I feel no differently about this house than all the others, which we rented. It's just a house; a place; I live here. Tomorrow I could live in another place and it would all mean the same to me. It wouldn't mean anything at all.

We've been here a month and I am used to where the stores are and how to get places, and so, it's just a place. I belong, I don't belong - it doesn't matter, I'm comfortable being out and about.

I joined this Poetry Writing Workshop at the Senior Learning Center at Temple University. I made my way there last week, chit-chatted with people, plunked myself down in the classroom and had no hesitation about participating - and of the 14 people in the class - 11 of them and the teacher all know each other well.

It seems interesting to me because I didn't use to be this way. I used to be very attached to places. And things. I hated moving. I hated change. It scared me. And in the past I would have been intimidated by that group of people, all chummy and friendly and me being an "outsider" .

It seems I just need a few things to anchor me - like my bed. It's just a frame, a foundation and a mattress, but it's familiar. I woke up the other morning, disoriented because I knew I was in my bed, I just wasn't sure where the bed was! Once I figured out where I was, well that was okay. I swear, if I had discovered that me and my bed were in Baghdad, well, that would have been okay too.

Wherever I am, it seems, that's where I belong, for the moment. If, in the next moment, I am somewhere else, well, then THAT'S where I belong. But I don't belong any where forever. I have no more roots. I have no more attachment to places, and I'm fast losing my attachment to things.

I exist in the world, touching down here, or there, and it's all the same. It's the strangest realization. Nothing means anything special; everything is equal. The constants in my life are my friends, no matter where I go, they are still there for me. I can reach out, they are there. I drag the cats around with me, they adapt so well. My husband is here, and when he's not, that's okay, because he'll be back...So it matters little where I physically am - I could walk out my front door tomorrow and be in Topeka, and I would just shrug my shoulders and say "Oh, well - here we are in Topeka" And I would go right on doing and living and being involved.

I find this very odd.

Sep 17, 2008

Hereby Resolved - Go to bed earlier

Last night, again, late to bed and this is what greeted me



You will note Zeke is sleeping with his head on my pillow, BB woke up when I whipped out the camera, Frankie never budged. I got into my jammies and tried to pull back the covers but Zeke would not move. I had to pick him up and move him to the middle of the bed - he never opened his eyes at all - and he hates to be picked up.

It is so exhausting to be a cat - they lead such busy lives - especially since George and I are home all day - they hang out in the basement while George is working - Frankie will lie on his hand while he is trying to use the mouse (hmmm cat + mouse; how did she know?). BB jumps up on the other table where the lap top is and politely walks across the key board and plunks himself down in the middle - if George gets up from his chair, Zeke hops immediately into the warm spot. They don't bother me while I'm at my desk, well not a lot, I have to fight Zeke for my chair, and BB walks across the printer, behind the PC monitor and then across the lap top keyboard, on his way to the adding machine...these guys just love to help.

Right now BB is helping George put together a small storage unit - Mostly what I'm hearing is "Get out of here"; "Give that back" and "GO AWAY".

Life would be too quiet and boring without the cats.

Aug 6, 2008

It's a mystery

About 3 months ago my glasses went missing. I leave them on a tray on the dining room table. I went looking for them one afternoon - no glasses. Now BB (the orange cat) has a habit of taking things including those glasses. So I searched the house - moved chairs, tables, looked in the closets, in and under everything. No glasses. When my husband got home I had him look - this isn't that big a house. We turned it inside out and upside down - no glasses. So for the past 3 months I have been wearing my old back-up glasses.

Last night we were cleaning the refrigerator and to get the crisper drawers out George had to move the fridge. Oh my, what's under and behind your fridge? So he swept and cleaned under, behind, around the fridge. Lots of dust and cat toys.

We have a bowl on a table in the dining room and it is kind of a catch-all. Business cards, the cats nail clippers, postage stamps - stuff like that. In preparation for the move I cleaned it out last week - it just has the cat's stuff and stamps in it now.

This afternoon as I was walking through the dining room I glanced into the bowl and saw MY GLASSES. I thought "George found my glasses under the fridge and didn't tell me" But I had my glasses back. Cool.

When George got home from work I said "Hey, you found my glasses and didn't even tell me" He said "What are you talking about. I didn't find your glasses, and if I had I would have told you right away"

So we discussed how my glasses mysteriously appeared. I had cleaned out the bowl last week - if they had been in there I would have seen them; it's not like there was a lot of stuff in there - all small things - smaller than my glasses. Last night George got a stamp from the bowl and there were no glasses in there last night.

SO WHERE THE HELL DID MY GLASSES COME FROM? WHO PUT THEM IN THE BOWL? HOW DID THEY GET THERE?

Spooky, scary! Late this morning as I was getting ready to get in the shower I heard noises downstairs - it sounded like someone was there - it didn't sound like the cats getting into anything - they're not that big, even when they do knock something over it's a small item - cats getting into trouble is usually accompanied by thuds - not loud noises - like metal being used - or a door opening. I crept downstairs - there was no one - I got a knife out of the drawer and quietly opened the door to the basement - no one there. I checked the front door it was closed but not locked. I was a little scared. And then an hour later I find my glasses -

We are so weirded out about this.

Jun 17, 2008

Unknown Visitor - a lady with a floral scent around her

Strange thing happened tonight - Lori (our neighbor and landlord) came over for dinner and after we ate we were sitting at the table talking when all of a sudden a very strong smell came wafting in the window - it was a powdery floral scent - very strong - and we thought someone wearing a lot of perfume was outside. We all got up to look - no one there. We went out the porch door and the smell was very strong, almost over powering - we thought it was from the flowers by the fence but when we went to sniff them - nothing. The scent was strongest by the back wall of the house underneath the windows to my office - so I went upstairs to see if I might have spilled something - no smell up stairs. But when I sniffed outside - there it was again. We went out in the yard thinking it might be coming from the houses behind us - but the further away from our house we went, the less you could smell it and half way out into the yard it disappeared.

I walked Lori out the front door and I was standing on my steps and she was standing on her steps and I smelled it again. But Lori, who was maybe 6 feet away, couldn't smell it. The scent seemed to have followed us to the front of the house. Before we could only smell it in at the back of the house. It seemed to be concentrated in that small area just outside our porch steps. And the scent did not go past the physical boundaries of the house - if you stepped more than 3 or 4 feet away from the house the scent disappeared. I can't imagine who was visiting. Lori thought it might be the woman who used to own this house - she died about 7 years ago - in June. But we have never smelled that scent before.

It went away after Lori went into her house so for a moment I thought it might be attached to her - but she couldn't smell it when she was on her front steps - so I guess it is attached to this house, even my husband was a little rattled. And of course he asked me if I could sense any one around - and to be honest I couldn't but then I have been shut off from that sort of stuff for a while now. It is so much work to deal with those folks, it takes practice and concentration and I have just not been up for it.

We are just wondering who could have been "visiting".

Apr 29, 2008

Faeries in the Yard

I have this godawful sinus cold/cough thing going on - the coughing is so bad I can't sleep - not wanting to wake my husband I went downstairs and sat on the porch, no lights on, just sitting, it was around 5 am. I'm just looking out into the yard - can't really see any details since I don't have my glasses on and then I see a sparkle of light just shimmering on the plants, it seems to flit over to another plant and it changes size - shooting up and then collapsing into itself so it is just a sliver of shimmering light...it hovers over the plants, it jumps lightly from leaf to leaf - I think to myself - We have faeries in the yard! It is raining lightly now and I want to see the faeries so I go get my glasses - big mistake - not faeries at all just the light from street lamps playing on the water on the leaves...I did so want it to be faeries....

Apr 9, 2008

My father stopped by for a visit yesterday

What you don't believe me? Just because he died 35 years ago? Pish - don't you read all of the entries here? I'm a psychic/medium, remember?

Anyway, I've been finding pennies, heads up, in unlikely places again.. And like they say, if folks who have passed over are gonna leave money, they can't leave 20 dollar bills? Anyway I went to put the papers out in the recycling bin on the porch and glanced at the table we have out there (in our efforts to stop smoking we now smoke only on the porch). We leave our cigarettes out there, and my husband always leaves his lighter on top of the pack. He smokes unfiltered Camels - I noticed the lighter was to the side of the pack of cigarettes and the cigarettes were Lucky Strikes! My father smoked Lucky's - I registered that somewhere in my brain (and no, you cannot mistake a pack of Lucky's for a pack of Camel's - they each have very distinctive packaging) but went back in the house to finish whatever I was doing. It didn't dawn on me till later what the significance was....

If you call on the spirits, long enough and loud enough, they will show up if they haven't recycled - and I have been calling for my Pops - I need his help - he is still a bit hesitant about talking to me - only shows up in dreams, rarely when I'm awake - when he's present he does the old "penny drop" - he always said if he ever won a million dollars he would change it to pennies and wallow in them - so pennies and now a pack of Lucky's - when I finally processed what I saw - I felt really good - there are a lot of spirits around lately - but they make me dizzy and run my blood pressure up - very strong presence these last few days - I hope they are finagling in my favor. But of course they are! I've got so many "people" protecting me, it's spooky.

So anyway, Pop, a little help here, okay? You know what I need - Make it Happen! Love Ya!

Apr 7, 2008

What informs your life?

That's an odd phrase and I hope I'm using it correctly. Someone made reference to some song lyrics which immediately reminded me of a poem - "After A While" by Veronica A. Shoffstall, not the greatest poem ever written but one which many women of my generation found useful, enlightening, even profound. Poetry informs my life. Not so much books, as poetry and one play in particular "'Night Mother" by Marsha Norman.

They say of my generation that we have a "sound track" to our lives and that may apply to other generations as well, I don't know, perhaps you will tell me if that is so.

Janis Ian put out an album in 1975 called "Between the Lines". I bought it for the song "At Seventeen" because that song was my life, as were others on that album - I felt almost as if she had been following me around, taking notes. As years went more of the songs were my life until now that album will tell you all you need to know about me.

With today's technology, I could easily put together a biography consisting of music - I'm betting a lot of folks could do that as well.

But it always comes back to poetry - I think in "poetry" I write poems in my head - a few lines here and there - all the time - last night as I was falling asleep I "wrote" a poem about Sundays.

So what informs your life?

Mar 9, 2008

Okay, I've had enough sunshine

Today is the first day of DST or whatever they call it - last night we turned the clocks ahead and this morning it was still dark when I got up and here it is 6 pm and you'd swear it was the middle of the afternoon! This is SO wrong - in the morning it should be light and in the evening it should be dark. Why have they turned my little world upside down! This is a vicious and nasty trick to play on an old woman...I want names and addresses - I want heads to roll - I want this to stop - Right now! I want to turn around and look out the window and see that it is getting dark and tomorrow morning when I get up at 7 am it damn well better be light out.

I don't actually WANT to get up at 7 am but I have to, and if I have to then I at least want to be able to see! Christ, how long has this nonsense been going on? Wait, don't tell me - every year since I was born? (Maybe before that too, but since I wasn't here, I don't care) Why have I never noticed this before?

I'm tired and cranky - I didn't get enough sleep last night and when I woke up this morning it was still dark!!! And it was late! Late in the morning and still dark! This is bullshit!