Tag Archives: grateful

A peep out of me

 

Smashwords is having a special Authors Give Back sale. People can download my book for free. We haven’t got a lot else to do, right? If we’re very, very lucky, boredom will be our worst enemy. The less lucky have to face loneliness, deprivation, sickness, and grief.

Well, I can’t fix that. But I can fix Bored. For several hours anyway.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/599602

I have this insurmountable to-do list on my phone, which I mostly ignore, and periodically angst over. I’m working my way through it at an alarming pace. I wonder how long it’ll last me. My freezer is getting really organized. I’ve figured out how to fight the ants back from the sink. Why aren’t I writing?

I guess I’m still adjusting, still reeling. I haven’t had the confidence to speak about what I’m seeing. For a while there, I wasn’t sure if this was worth worrying about or what.  Then came mental adjustment to new facts. Then came house arrest. Then I had to make fish cakes. Then came denial. Then I just absolutely had to learn how to tune the gears on my bike. Now I think I’ve come to terms, more or less, with whatever the hell is happening.

Have I mentioned how lucky I am? Maybe grateful… blessed… are better ways to put it. My work was already partially remote, so they’re letting us work from home. I didn’t really have that much put away in the stock market… money’s all made up anyway, it comes and goes. I’ve got a cabinet full of grits, rice, and beans if it comes to that. I really have nothing to worry about except other people.

Other people. That’s the only thing worth worrying about, isn’t it? I’m a type B, not a worrier by nature. Not by anybody’s standards. Well, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere. I mean that quite literally.

Missouri’s only got forty-something cases yet. That is, cases which have been tested and reported. Who knows what’s been hacked up out there, invisible, unreported.

It’s strange, behaving like I’m sick when I don’t feel sick. Next time I go out, I’ll get to play bandit with a kerchief on my face. That’s right, a handkerchief. My friends give me shit, because handkerchiefs are my religion. YOU SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT A HANDKERCHIEF, I’ll say, and whip mine out to save the day in every situation.

But I digress. It’s a writer’s prerogative.

So I’ll post more often, because we all need something to read, and it’s nice to know that we’re all alive out there.

Speaking of which… everyone alive out there? My precious reader friends and blogger friends? DO YOU HAVE ENOUGH TOILET PAPER? 

Count off!

 

P.S. Bloggers might appreciate this. The diary of Samuel Pepys, written in the 1660’s in London during a bout of the Bubonic Plague. 

https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/

I haven’t read a lot of it, but one part sticks in my mind: he was having a little house party, everyone was having a nice time, singing songs, then the party had end because two people got toothaches and wanted to go to bed.

Add modern dentistry and modern nutrition to my gratefulness list.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

To the steadfast

 

To the steadfast
The reliable
The open-hearted
The ones who give and give
With whom I never have to pretend
Whom I need never fear
To the ones who brighten when they see me
Laugh at my bad jokes
Appreciate what I am
The ones with whom
I am safe
The ones who are
So easy to love

Thank you is not enough
But it’s all I have.
You are my shelter
In a windblown world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Wrapping paper shreds

 

Wrapping paper shreds

Exploded packaging and

Happy hugs, chatter

Each left with a little sack of

Their own to take home.

A hundred tiny lights shine

Gentle illumination

Everyone’s smiling

In pools of mixing color.

Santa is watching.

Hugs all around us.

Life has slowed down for today.

Have some more egg nog.

I almost forgot

To get out the apple pie!

Let me help you with that.

Thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

When the world is first frostbitten

 

When the world is first frostbitten

tender trees touched in thin ice

When summer shows its back

abandoning you for a faraway land

When winter’s wan face smirks at your peephole

hard fingernails tapping your door

knowing it will soon be strong

enough to crack your lock and let itself in

When everything disintegrates into blue and white and crispy brown

and the wind, mad surgeon, lacerates your summer softened skin

 

then the clouds part

affording you

one

glimpse

of heavenly light

a welcoming patch in which to stand

 

When you know you are about to lose it for good

that is when the warmest sun shines

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

One Month Later

It’s only been a month since I started blogging?? I started on 6/26.

It’s been a lifetime. I’ve already learned so much, written so much, read so much. I dare say my poetry has gone up a level or two since I began.

Not long ago, I was thinking to myself, “I need more writer friends.” I have a lot of visual artist friends, and I am head over heels in love with every one of them. But I had very few people with whom I could talk about writing as a craft.

I didn’t realize it, but I was stagnating as a writer.

I’m not sure what happened. I was just following the flow of Tao, “what the hell.” I barely even knew what a blog was. I figured I’d be invisible. Actually I was sort of banking on it, not really wanting to be emotionally exposed. I didn’t know there was a wordpress community. I was vaguely aware of the term “blogosphere” and thought that sounded like a dreadful place full of people bitching about the mundanity of their lives or ranting their crazy.

Well, I guess it is that. But it’s also much more than that. And it’s really unexpectedly lovely.

I never thought of myself as a poet. I was just venting on paper. If someone told me six months ago that I was going to do this, my mind would have boggled. “Poetry” and “blog,” were two of the most boring words put together. 

No. It’s electricity. The level of talent out there, the things people post leave me breathless. And where are the trolls? I’ve spent a month just reading, and the greater part of the dialogue has been enlightening and respectful. Everyone has been kind in their own way.

They say writing is a solitary craft, but I have learned about as much in the past month as I managed to teach myself in my years of solitary efforts.

Warm fuzzies to all.

 

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