A Strange Request

A strange Request at a Piano Bar

A tiny gasp escapes her lips as the sunlight pierces through the clouds.In a matter of seconds the aged structure is bathed in a bright yellow light, magnifying the deep crevices that mar the faded surface of her grandfather's dream. The, once majestic, Sassafras Lounge.

The sign still hangs, but barely. Beaten by smoke and oxidation. it's remains are a dismal reminder of time's heavy hand and and broken dreams. Now, somber and grey, it looms like a shadow darkening the hollowed windows that mirror the sadness in her soul. 

Juvenile memories flood her mind. Grandpa's twinkling eyes and hearty laughter, his fingers magically flying across the keys of the old mahogany piano. Grandma's enchanting tales of exotic places. Her hands expertly weaving apple red remnants into flowing skirts, and teaching her twirl them to rich ethnic melodies.

She was little then. A child too young to conceive the long term effects prejudice and controversy. But the biting words of the townspeople are still etched in her brain. A carnival, they'd called it. A den of thieves. A den of dirty thieves....
   
"This place, my Mädchen, the music, it was supposed to bring happiness to the people." grandpa whispered, as he watched his world go up in flames. "It was supposed to bring happiness to you..."

The groan of advancing bulldozers jerks her back to reality. The collective buzz of mumbling voices grow as townspeople assemble to witness the curiosity.


Donning a mask of stoicism she grips the walnut butt for balance and continues her daunting trek up the rocky drive. Slow and awkward, she calculates her final steps. Refusing to allow a sprained ankle or broken heart to get in her way, she makes it to the top.

"Get outta the way, lady!" cries a man in a white hard hat. "You crazy or what?" 

She doesn't answer, and doesn't move. But leaning the smooth butt of shotgun beneath her palm, she waits with anticipation. 

The final outcome, she's decides, will be up to them.  

Another March

Another March
sweet 
exquisite words
beautiful sentiments 
inspiring hearts
evoking tears 

Another March
Perspectives shared
humor 
laughter 
knowledge
teaching
learning together 
from one another

Another March
unbridled emotions
compassionate hearts
new friendships found
old friendships renewed
bonds deepened

Another March 
over and well spent
slicing with a talented circle of friends.

Today I'm in love

So here I am on this rainy morning, sipping coffee, listening jazz, wrapping myself in a warmth that cannot be conveyed. 

Silvery gray flecks of light filter through my  shades, subtle hues, leaving my mind to interpret their emotion.

Gentle droplets transform into tiny pools, reminding me of memories long forgotten.

Laughing, giggling, splashing, loving.

No room for dismal and drab, today, I decide.

Today, I shall choose tranquility and joy.

Today, I'm in love with the rain. 

Gliding (a Haiku)

Gliding on a breeze

through sapphire skies he roams

freedom unconstrained

She is Life

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Clear and cool she remains supreme.
our earth, her playground
she provides.

Pure cascading droplets
transmute into energy before wondering eyes.
sparkling, trickling
splashing, spraying, sprinkling
misting and rumbling, 

She roars.
She rules. 
she reigns.

She is power.
She is water.
She is life.

Her son

They were the same she and him, cut from the same cloth. She could practically read his thoughts. His stormy eyes flashed in her direction, stabbing her with the depth of his despair.

Her instinct was to console him. To touch his shoulder, to coo soft reassuring words, to smooth his tousled curls like she had when he was little.

Instead, she sat in silence, absorbing his pain, wrapping herself in the protective armor that is motherhood.

The hands of time had gently shifted her place, but she didn't fret. For everything was as it was meant to be.

With compassion in her soul and thankful heart, she lovingly stepped aside.

Her son, she knew, would be okay.

After all, he was in the very best of hands. 

And another tear falls

She tosses and turns. Ripping the blanket off her weary body, she flings it into the night. Too hot, too cold.  The PM's she took an hour ago have done nothing to relieve the pounding in her head. The incessant voices continue to wrack her brain with endless agitation. Too exhausted to move, her mind is her prison.

So very very selfish, she scolds herself harshly. You should be ecstatic! What's wrong with you? You're stronger than this! Get a damned grip!

She realizes there's no winning.

Her chastisement only serves to escalate the very guilt she's trying to shirk. 

She had convinced herself she was getting better. 

She replays the events of the last few days. The ups, the downs, the helplessness, the hope. The thirty plus sleepless hours she'd made it through with barely a thought. She had been strong. She had stayed focused. She had done what she needed to do for the sake of their son.

She'd been swept up in the joy and elation with everyone else. 
Like waking to sunshine after a long stormy night, she could feel God's hand as she cradled, for the very first time, their God given angel. 

The angel he should have been here to see. 

Now, as she lay alone in her bed, she allows it to consumes her. The aching loneliness, the familiar feeling of soul gripping gloom.

Why? she whispers, can't you be here with us? 

And why, she wonders, can't I accept that you're not?

Exhausted from fighting a battle she knows she can't win...she gives in.

For it seems that it's in her happiest moments, she finds herself missing him most...

and another tear falls.....

Her eyes tell the story.

It's Monday. 

"I can't find my book", she mutters, sauntering slowly past my desk.

"No problem", I answer as kindly as possible. She does this every week. "Just bring them back whenever you do."

She looks at me, as if waiting for me to say more, but doesn't speak.

She doesn't have to. Her eyes tell the story. 

So young to be so calloused, I think sadly.

Note to self:  Try harder in the future!

It's Friday. 

She slips in quietly placing the overdue book on my desk.

"Awesome, you found it!" I exclaim.

She nods without looking and walks toward the graphic novels.

"How are you doing today?" I ask, hoping to disarm her with a smile.

"Good", she replies halfheartedly. But she's not, not really. Her eyes tell the story.

She searches, I organize....and for awhile we're entrenched in our own private thoughts. 

"Are you doing anything fun this weekend?" I ask finally, attempting to make a connection.

She mumbles, I can't hear her, I ask her to repeat, a little louder, please. She deserves to be heard.

She repeats.

I listen.

Her tone becomes more animated as her plans for the weekend unfold. (A recital, A costumes, A hairdo, Her dad.)

I hear her, really hear her.  She knows.  Her eyes tell the story.

"You'll do great", I encourage her as we walk toward the door. 

I mean it! she knows it! Her eyes tell the story.  


It's Monday

"I remembered my books", she announces, stopping at my desk.

"Awesome!" I grin. My eyes meet hers.  "How was your dance recital?" I remember to ask.

"It was great!" she exclaims, and I know it's the truth. Her eyes tell the story.

Today I'm Irish

Luck O' The Irish

That's what they say

But I'm claiming my Pot O' Gold

Anyway!

You see once a year

I'm Irish too

 whether you know it or not

So are you! 

So deck out in green

and raise up a glass

and

share some corn beef

with your best lad or lass

Tomorrow the shamrocks 

may all disappear

may the luck of the the Irish

be with you all year

Our City

                  Emerald, sage, or olive drab
                        Jade or Veronese
                     apple, mint, or Kelly
                       moss or aquamarine

                  Whatever shade's your favorite
                     It surely will be seen
                     this weekend in our city
                     The wearing of the green.

For without integrity....

He blazed like the sun for a time, 
too hot to touch, he reigned alone.
Perched upon his pedestal of arrogance 
his golden tongue effortlessly weaving deceptive promises
leading them to believe.

Captivated, they clung tenaciously to every word.
Docile souls, melding into the safety of his shadow.
Huddling together, blindly they followed;
deflecting the heat, disregarding the truth.

But winds of change were fast and fickle 
His fleeting flame died quickly.
Leaving them to follow, he faded into the bowels of obscurity, and one by one they did. 
Lost and soulless, they hadn't a choice...
For without integrity, they found, there was no place else to go. 

prelude

                               

                                             

                      baleful clouds emerge
                                             
                     in monochromatic skies

                      prelude to a storm

the annals of time

Seamlessly, I fade into the rich nostalgic sepia tones of yesteryear. Transported to another place and time. I sort through the genealogical jewels so meticulously left behind. 

Letters, clippings, and carefully preserved photographs magically jump to life, capturing my imagination, absorbing me into their world. 

I find inspiration in their stories, familiarity in their enigmatic faces.

We are family, connected forever, through the annals of time.

A little girl broken

A page in her journal

A day in her life

A story to be told

Her attempts to to change

Swept away like petals in the wind

floating in her fantasies

She remained

An over thinking, soul searching, philosophizing fool

Lessons learned

Mistakes repeated

over and over

A hopeful heart to be worn forever on her sleeve

A little girl broken

She couldn't be fixed

No apologies

No right or wrong

created by God

she was always the person

she was meant to be

I've Gotta Pee!

A gentle nudge. Her cold wet nose rouses me from sweet slumbery dreams.

"Not now!", I groan, my voice is dusky, manly. "Ugh!" I toss for dramatic flare. Plopping the pillows over my head I fade easily into misty remnants of my dream.

Her whine is dainty, respectful, but persistent. She's gotta pee!

"Okay, girl!" I acknowledge, but can't help indulge myself for a one more minute. I stretch. I roll. Her tail wags in anticipation, her excited squeal follows suit. Come on, Mom!, she seems to say. 

The selfish me hides from the briskness of the morning air. Comfy under the luxury of soft down, I drift off one last time. 

She whines again, this time in desperation.  Uh, oh. I've waited too long. 

I pop up to offer an apology. I ruffle her fur. No time for that, her eyes seem to say, I've gotta go now!!

Slipping into my robe, I fight to keep up as she scurries down the stairs toward the back door. I watch quietly as she disappears into the hazy predawn darkness. Now that's a beautiful soul, I think. Patient, kind and oh so forgiving.

Then it hits me

Back up the stairs run....I've gotta pee!

If only you could see

If only you could see you as I do
Giving your heart, giving your all.
Brightening the world around you each day with your smile
your very existence.
But you don't know.
You wish, sometimes in the darkness before dawn,
that you could change your path.
Be someone else, someone better,
perhaps even a superstar,
Superstar is relative.
Don't you know you're one already?
You don't, but I do....
If only you could see

The knife

She'll have your back 'til the very end
Cause she's fiercely loyal when you're her friend. 
But should you choose to brandish a blade
She'll stand her ground, She's never afraid.
And be forewarned before using that knife
You'll lose her friendship for the rest of your life. 

Her name is Elle

It was March, 2013. I was nervous. A newbie attempting to navigate in a community of skilled and talented writers.

Recently widowed, I had something I needed to say. I longed to reach out to the world. But how? 

For hours on end I'd sit at my computer, writing, reading, searching, staring..... Into the wee hours of the morning I struggled only to find my yearning to share suppressed by frailty of my heart.

It was during one of my predawn pursuits I discovered her. Her tormenting words gripped me with such intensity, I dared not look away. With sleep deprived eyes, I drank in her words. My soul ached as I followed her into the vast darkness of cyberspace. I absorbed her pain, but knew not how to comfort. 

Somewhere, in the world she was alone
hurting, 

aching, 

crying, 

breaking

And yet, her brave, eloquent words filled me with deep inspiration. 

If she could survive.....who am was to wallow in the sea of self pity.

She never knew, and perhaps never will, know how much I felt the connection. 

But every March, I go back to those days, and I remember. 

Her name is Elle. 

Vehophobia, it's no joke!!

Summer, 1993

Thump, Thump, Thump, "Ma'am we're here!" announces the delivery man. "Can you move your car? We're going to need to pull into your driveway!"

Whoosh! That's the sound of the perspiration pouring from my brow.

"Uh, excuse me a second, I mumble, attempting a smile,  "Let me get my husband......."JOHNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He's in the shower upstairs. I realize he can't hear me.

My heart is tap dancing to no particular rhythm. I feel suddenly weak.

The delivery man stares at me impatiently.

"Hang on", I say breathlessly, "I'll be right back."

I fly up the stairs.

Thump, Thump, Thump, "John, the delivery guys are here. You have to move the car!!!"

I'm in the shower!! Just grab my keys, you can do it!!

"I can't!"  I exclaim, "Just hurry......please......"

My heart is pounding harder now, I fear I may keel over.

The man is still waiting at the bottom of the stairs.....the shower is still running in the bathroom.

I try to control my breathing. I have to do something.

I run downstairs, grab the car keys.......

Can I do it?

Thump, Thump, Thump.......My neighbor looks concerned as she opens the door.

"Hi, ummm", I beseech her with pleading eyes, "there's a delivery man at my house. Would you be able to move our car, please?

I hand her the keys.


Vehophobia, it's no joke!!

Gentle reminders

Today our school launched its second annual year One Book, One School Event.

The idea behind One Book, One School is that every family, teacher, and staff member at our school will be reading the same book at the same time.

While I take delight in participating in a project that partners our school and community in promoting literacy, I find there are other benefits as well.

Like being introduced to an old friend.

This year we are reading Charlotte's Webb, by E.B. White

I take joy in the familiarity of this timeless childhood classic and am gently reminded we're never too old  to relearn lessons we may have forgotten along the way.....

“Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.” 
― E.B. White, Charlotte's Web

I mean really, does it get any better than that?

Stay

Even in slumber I feel your presence. My sleepy eyes spring open excited to welcome you home.

Your brilliance is medicinal, like chicken soup for a cold and murky soul. You heal me. 

I've pretended your absence doesn't matter, but my sulkiness bears witness to my lie.

I  gain strength in your warmth, your brilliance, your indescribable beauty.

The truth is.....

I love you, I need you, I beg you to stay. 

Barb

She didn't walk, but sashayed into the room. She seemed winded and her cheeks were flushed with excitement? cold?  The silvery white curls adorned her head like a crown. She was positively regal. 

I admired from afar as she flitted around getting situated. Her contagious smile seemed to brighten even the gloomiest of spirits. It was clear that they loved her as they called her by name, "Barb!".

Somewhere along the line she had gone from being their waitress to being their friend. 

Colors

I glimpse a brief shadow just before dawn

ghostly swirls of misty grays, purples, indigo, blues

I wonder

A whisper of calmness drifts into my day

soft muted whites, silvery hues, lavender dreams

I breathe

A quiet comfort soothes me as twilight creeps in

crimsons, oranges, buttery yellows

I sleep

Sweet prisms of color mingle in with my dreams

all wrapped up in your memory

I love