January 22, 2024 ~ Monday morning (unseasonably warm – I’ll take it!)
I’d like to wish you all a Happy New Year – but we are already three weeks into this new year – so, I’ll wish you a Happy (three weeks in/not so) New Year, instead. Hope it’s a great one for us all.
It’s been a while, again. The lobster has been absent for a couple of months and I feel it in my soul when I don’t write – but I have been “elsewhere” in my thoughts and time.
Mom died the week before Christmas … she was ready, and we were ready (is anyone EVER ready though?). She went peacefully, at home, and that is all anyone can really hope for. She missed her 95th by a month … a long, pretty-easy life. The night she passed, I came home late; I was grumpy and sleep-deprived, stressed and sad, and I brushed past my tree to hang up my coat and knocked off one of my favorite ornaments and watched as it shattered into a million pieces on the floor. I wondered why my heart didn’t do the same. The dogs had been in too long so I had messes to clean up. I got grumpier. Could I take one more thing? And then, in the laundry room, there was a (still alive – and squeaking – omg) mouse in the trap. OMG. Horrors! As I put him outside – all I could think of was that it was a day of slow, lingering death. I came inside and shouted at the ceiling, “I can’t do this … I hope you made it Mom. I hope to God you made it!” … and as the last word left my mouth, one of the light bulbs in my kitchen fixture blinked off and on. WTF?! I exhaled … and took it that Mom “made it” – she’d made it to Heaven. I whispered a very soft … thank you. That was good. A few days later, I brushed by the tree again and a small cluster of bells, hanging on one of the branches, tinkled softly. Okay … I get it … another sign. I took that that Mom got her wings, too. Atta girl, Mom.
This month has flown with holidays, packing up her apartment, arrangements, and all that losing someone entails (contacting whatever friends she had left, sifting through bits of a 95-year-old life) … which also included complete and utter exhaustion. Stress does a number on the body and when you stop for a moment after being on “high alert” for so long … the body (at least mine) turns to a glob of goo or a pile of mush and it’s really hard to get a glob of goo or a pile of mush to do anything!
I’m working on my next book (yay) and came across these this morning … old 100-word smash-ups from when I lived on the island. The local arts center would hold contests from time to time and you were allowed 100 words – no more/no less. Two local actors, one female/one male, would sit on the stage and read the stories out loud. Behind them on a large screen would be a photo of a “mock-up” book with the title of the story and the author’s name. It was always such fun! I was most tickled when the woman read my Ima Goen story. She did such a GREAT job with it. These are all better read aloud – just fyi. I placed 2nd and 3rd in two different years; I now don’t remember which stories won, but it was exciting! Big crowds in the performing arts center … and always a rush to hear someone else read your work. I miss my friends from there, but man, I miss the beauty and green and the culture … and having a reason to write a 100-word smash-up. Enjoy!
*****
By Myself … (Feb 2017)
Countless diaper-changing, bottle-feeding nights. Sleep-deprived days of colic and firsts … I wished for a moment by myself.
Giggles, swings, tadpoles, and cat birthday parties. Wading pools, dinosaurs, dolls, legos. Hours of Barbie, Disney songs that still haunt, slumber parties with Mary Worth til dawn.
I wished for a hot bath – by myself – without toys.
Back packs, packed lunches, soccer, piano, scouts. Friends galore, empty pantry, family vacations. Pizza boxes reaching the moon. Mountains of laundry. Whirling days of car pools and errands.
I wished to catch my breath.
Quiet house. Husband passed. Children’s wings spread.
By myself.
*****
I am NOT Scarlett O’Hara (Feb 2016)
I am NOT Scarlett O’Hara.
Though I do believe that “tomorrow is another day”, I keep hoping it ends up being something other than what it always is—Another. Day.
It’s been years since that horrible, worst day—not the day he died (though not great in itself)…but the day AFTER he died. After 9,926 days together how was I to go on with my life…a life without HIM?
My shattered heart is mending—apparently too slowly—because everyone thinks I should be “over him” by now.
I am NOT Scarlett O’Hara…and frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.
*****
The Light (Oct 2015) (This is a two person read. Italics = person #2)
The light comes intermittently—not like a blinking firefly but steady and streaming—reminding me of the lighthouse beacon at the cove.
Her pupils are not responding.
The voice is clinical. It talks about me—but not to me.
“I’M HERE!” I shout. But the words never pass my lips and echo in my head. I feel hollow. Do I feel?
I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.
It is then that the sobbing begins. I hear the heartbreaking slump of bodies against each other—my parents.
The light returns but it is different—warmer, brighter—beckoning me towards it.
*****
My Fairy Tale (Oct 2015)
Snow White had it made!
Seven boyfriends—Sleepy, Sneezy, Dopey, Grumpy, Bashful, Happy, and Doc. Not great names and albeit short in stature, but she was adored by industrious, doting miners in a one-bedroom, cozy cottage deep in the woods.
What’s not to like?
A girl can dream. Right?
But, in my fairy tale, they would be tall, dark, and handsome with names like Hunky, Sporty, Funny, Wealthy, Smarty, Arty, and Chef.
However, life usually isn’t a fairy tale and sometimes you get Lazy, Sleazy, Slimy, Horny, Drunky, Stupid, or Broke.
But sometimes, just sometimes, you get a Prince.
*****
The Day After (Feb 2015)
I remember it like it was yesterday; because it was yesterday.
I should have heeded the warnings. I knew it was coming. And yet, I ignored all the signs. And then it was upon us. And they were upon us.
Scenes from nightmares: tattered and armed, skeletal, fang-toothed, and bloody; lurching and scurrying with a hundred feet.
I turned out all the lights – hoping they would pass me by and not stop to feed on me to sate their unquenchable hunger.
I endured hours, hidden in the darkness, praying for them to be gone.
Thank God, Halloween is over!
*****
Ima Goen (Oct 2014) (Best read with a slow, Southern drawl – female voice)
You’d think my mama and daddy were humorous folks. Not so.
Contrarily, my name defies their stern nature. My name is Ima Goen…and that’s what I plan on doin’.
I’m sick of saying Ima Goen…cuz I know someone’s gonna ask me, “Where?”
It ain’t funny. So, I’m a goin’. I don’t know where…and I don’t know when but I’m a goin’ somewhere where I can breathe air so fresh my lungs will laugh.
Today’s not the day. But one day I’ll just go. And when I do, I’ll no longer be Ima Goen … I’ll be Ima Gone.
*****
Ode to Leggings (Jan 2015)
Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a pair of long, shapely legs …
Once upon a time, and long ago, (probably whence I was in 4th grade) – I owned a pair of legs – bar non, from sticks and pink were made.
For twelve seconds, that is, those “sticks” were mine, between baby and adult stages of chub. Good thing I don’t live in Borneo where cannibals would rename me … Grub. Bob Evans and Jimmy Dean would love me – don’t give either of them a fork … cuz my legs, these days, are no longer sticks, but look like fat sausages of pork!
*****
Realization (Nov 2014)
Realization. It had been a long time in coming. I stared down at my left hand as I slipped the band from the fourth finger. Subtly … like a hurricane gale or a marching band … it hit me and swept away my denial. Awash in grief, I could do nothing but quell the primal howl inside me and try to breathe. Breathe. Keep breathing. Road signs around me silently screamed their directions: STOP, MERGE, WRONG WAY, CAUTION, DEAD END. DEAD. END. I felt sick. Again. All the sleepless nights, unshed and shed tears, my shattered heart … finally it set in … realization.