What's in a Phrase

 I'm no stranger to death and dying. During the height of the AIDS pandemic, I stopped counting the number of people I knew who had died of complications from AIDS at 800.

What registered with me this morning was the phrases people tend to use when making a comment about a person's death. It seems to vary, depending upon the age of the deceased. For example:

Birth to 40 years of age: "What a pity...they were just getting started in life."

40 to 50-ish: "What a pity...they won't get to see their children a) graduate, b) get married, c) have children of their own, etc...

50-ish to 75: "They were so young and won't get to enjoy retirement."

75 - 100+: "They'll be missed, but were so lucky to have had a full life." 

All these phrases hold clues to our perception or misperception of where we "should be" at a certain time of life. The ages I've assigned are to make a point but I acknowledge they are arbitrary. Though the age of the deceased may be different, the phraseology isn't. 

I'm clueless as to why my conscious mind has picked up on these soundbites of American culture but rather than dwell on it, I'm leaving it here...in this vacuum...where it belongs. 

Hearse Etiquette

Do you have days when you crack yourself up? Can you take a good long look at yourself and find the humor? There's no shortage of laughter for me as I keep creating comedic fodder, if only for my own amusement.

As is usual on Monday mornings, I venture out to Penuel Ridge to work on site. This allows me to stay connected with the land and the mission while getting a good dose of outdoors! BTW, the firepinks are blooming.

As is also the case, my drive from East Nashville to the middle of Cheatham County includes a stop at doggy day care to drop off Miss Sophie.

I loaded all my gear for the day (and evening meeting) and a 50-ish pound Airedale Terrier into my SUV and off we went.

As I was driving, a shiny black hearse was entering the freeway and by my estimations was going to land in the same spot as me, who was traveling in the right-hand lane. I did a quick head-check on hearse etiquette and decided to slow down enough so that said hearse could enter the freeway smoothly. I certainly didn't want any contents to shift should the driver need to accelerate or brake suddenly. I was so polite, I let the car behind it enter before me as well...a little cushion between me and the hearse.

So we drive on and the hearse takes the same exit as me and the cushion car did not so now I'm immediately behind the hearse. My mind starts to wander/wonder if there is indeed driving etiquette published somewhere and before I know it...I'm following the hearse! Luckily, it was getting on the same freeway as me so I kept driving.

It wasn't until I was 3/4 of the way to my destination that I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Ms. Sophie staring back at me. Yes, I was so caught up in hearse etiquette I forgot to drop off the dog at day care.

Laughter ensued!

Hide and Seek

I've been playing hide and seek with the Muse for a little while now. Luckily, I've been in the company of a group of women writers who are divine in their own write/right and supportive of the new kid at the table.

As a poet, it's daunting to be given a writing prompt and 20 minutes on a clock to produce something worthy enough to speak out loud. I've surprised myself. I'm writing more prose than poetry but the poetry is coming out, just like the green shoots of Spring.

So here's a poem which emerged from the following prompt:

"Today, portray violence in your writing."

After sitting with this prompt for a few minutes, an image popped into my head and the words flowed:

Town Square

 

a swinging rope

a holy oak

one-hundred years of shade

 

a swinging rope

a holy oak

faces devoid of shame

 

a swinging rope

a holy oak

a spectator sport

 

for the lame

of heart, of conscience,

of soul

 

save one child

 

alone

 

her innocence flown

past her lips

in a perfect O

Leveling the Bubble

OK so if anyone is reading this you probably think either I:

1. died

2. am sitting in a dark room drooling on myself

or

3. have lost all dexterity in my fingers

Well...none of these things are true. What is true is that the doctors finally got the medications adjusted correctly and on the morning of Sunday, July 22nd, I woke up and my brain had turned back on. I gotta tell ya, it was pretty spooky and of course, I didn't trust that it was real or that it would last but wouldn't you know it, I'M BACK! And yes that deserves all CAPS and a few exclamation points!!!!!

All that was left was to get my stamina back and thanks to the Lovely Linda, that is happening.

Speaking of the Lovely Linda...she's here...for good...not going anywhere...in the same house...with her stuff...and her fur family...and I couldn't be happier!!!!! ( I know, my use of using exclamation points is getting out of hand...deal with it.)

So...I'm making up for the 8 weeks I lost over the summer to this brain thing and reveling in the unpacking and the hanging of pictures and the being together and the fur family and wished-for-things coming to fruition.

That is all for now. Will post later to introduce you to Zoe, a Border Collie/Cocker Spaniel mix, Sophie, an Airedale Terrier and Persia, a Calico cat.

Taking it in the Teeth

Dear Self,

It's me again, the neurological disease you pretend most times you don't have. I applaud your gift of denial, one you come by honestly from your mother, but I'm back and bigger and badder than I've ever been. You're going to feel like a bicycle tire pump has been inserted in your ear and a chimpanzee is jumping up and down on the handle to Calliope music. You're going to be dizzy, in pain, not able to see, fall asleep driving, throw up, not be able to turn your head or touch your chin to your chest, the pressure and pain will make it hard to sit or stand and just for fun, you'll be exhausted all the time.

Now that I have your attention, here's what's going to happen. You're going to slow down, sit still, lay down, take naps, take lots and lots of pills, drink gallons of water, constantly run to the bathroom and next week, they're going to take a picture of your brain, just to make sure I don't have a friend tap dancing in there with me. Won't that be fun? So what if the cost is the same as your monthly budget for food. Be grateful you can get this level of care, being uninsured and all.

You see I've been here all along, watching, waiting and planning my return. You were lulled into a false sense of security that the pill you took every day could keep me at bay. If you feel threatened, scared and alone, it's justified.

Sincerely,


Pseudotumor Cerebri

Singing for our Lives

Last Thursday night, Nashville in Harmony performed it's season finale concert, "Mosaic...Voices for Change." I was honored to be on the stage with 97 other performers whom I consider family. We were joined by 4 spoken word performance artists from Southern Word and Gregory Stallings, an inspiring young vibraphonist and son of one our members.

We left everything on the stage. In talking with several chorus members, they are still recuperating from the physical, emotional and spiritual experience.

Our message was strong, clear and challenging...today's youth needs our support more than ever, every voice counts, be a change agent in the face of adversity and do not allow bullying to continue its erosion of our community. This message was inspritational for most, but challenging and uncomfortable for others. I view their discomfort as progress. When we speak the truth with love and tenacity, it should make people who are sitting in the shadows squirm in their seats.

My greatest hope is that they'll be compelled to act for we are not only singing for our lives, but for the lives of our children.

Back in the Saddle Again

Despite lingering doubts I may not know how to do this amy more, I think I'll get reaquainted with writing this summer...starting today. I know it's not officially summer, but close enough.

Hmm...where to start. It's good to unpack all my books and let them breathe. They've been in storage nearly 7 years. Isn't 7 years the same amount of time it takes for the body to generate a new set of taste buds? If that's just an old wive's tale, too bad, because I like the metaphor. We'll see if books taste the same or if they've taken on a deeper, more complex flavor.

A lot has happened since my last post. I had to say goodbye to Miss Mocha. Actually, I'm still saying goodbye to her every day. I thought I heard her moving around in the house last night, toenails on hardwood floors, but it wasn't her. I wanted it to be her so I sat in the dark for a long time, thinking about what it means to lose a piece of yourself and still look whole to the world. If people only knew I walk around without an arm and a leg I think they'd be kinder. I wish they would be kinder to me, to themselves, to others. Anyway, it can be a pity party in my head at times.

The lovely Linda is actively looking for a job in Nashville so one day soon, we'll get to live the life we have dreamed of. Imagine it, two women, two dogs and an uppity cat in a two bedroom house. It'll be cozy and furry and exactly as it should be.

We've just finished round two of home improvements and this little house, which was so sad when I moved in, is starting to ooze love. Friends were over last night and commented on how good it felt...yippee!!

I'm having a bit of a health concern. The neurological disease I was diagnosed with 7 years ago has reared its ugly head. I've been asymptomatic this whole time and now WHAMMO! I'm on the medication merry-go-round to see if things can get back to normal. Time will tell. They want to do an MRI to make sure there's "nothing else contributing to the symptoms." That's doctor speak for brain tumor. Fear of the unknown can make you think and do some pretty stupid thhings, so I'm sticking with my gut feeling that it's nothing more than a flair up.

Did I mention the first crop of peaches from South Carolina are in? This is something to smile about!

I think that's it for the random thoughts for now. There's a lot more to write about but I'll save it for another day...maybe tomorrow!

It's good to be back.

On Rejoining the Chaos

After 6 years of living in near-Nirvana, I have moved to the city and am experiencing all that a city has to offer.

Last Saturday, it had to offer:

1. Me running a red light
2. Mocha getting so over-stimulated at Petsmart she peed a wide swath from the front door to the car
3. Aggressive posturing in the Krogers parking lot

...and that's when I thought it was best to retreat to the safety of four walls.

Under the "not new to most, but new to me":

1. Learning how to use a Smartphone
2. Adjusting from dial-up to high-speed internet
3. YouTube

When my neck and shoulders started aching and eyes watered, I resorted to my fall-back position...

Home Made Mac & Cheese

Shadow

for two, maybe three seasons of flight,
his absence has left a shadow on the heart

still, the eye scans the shallows
for a glimpse of the arched neck,
the poppy-colored beak
made famous in another poem

about Swans,
how their grace causes the breath
to catch in the throat
like the memory of a lost love

who too has left a shadow on the heart

Front Porch

plastic orange flags
flap frantically in the breeze
between newly-leafed trees
and sweet spring grass

who know,
in their state of natural being
how to bend, to sway, to swoon
at the touch of a breeze,

their fickle dance partner

A Shift

Hello! Is there anyone out there? I don't blame you for walking away from this rarely-updated, dull-as-dishwater blog. I have a bag of cookies and I'm going to drop crumbs all over the Interwebs and see if you can be lured back. Yes, they're chocolate chip.

This blog has been a wonderful place to house my poetry and photos and occasional observations and rants for the past 6 years. Funny thing is, about 2 years ago, the poetry stopped flowing and the daily existence of being me didn't seem blog-worthy. Two major life events contributed to the muteness...knee replacement surgery and the bitchin' flood last May.

I don't know if there's been a permanent change to my landscape or if this was protracted writers block, but I'm about to do something to kick myself in the writers butt.

From Apri 7 - 10, I'll be locked down at a writers retreat. Just me, pen and paper and maybe my laptop. I'm pretty scared because I run the risk of uncovering a fraud of such grand proportions it makes Bernie Madoff look like an alter boy.

Ok...that was pretty dramatic but there it is...I'll either come away from the retreat with poetry oozing out of my pores or with me in leg irons.

So stay tuned...this should be interesting.

They Didn't Make the Cut

Just a random list of names of dwarfs who didn't make the cut for the iconic Snow White companions:

Sniffy
Drippy
Fluffy
Squishy

Feel free to expound.

Unleashing the Poet Within

A few new poems by yours truly written at a retreat led by Nevin Comptom Trammell.

The Irregular Heart

The irregular heart
knows not the confines
of chamber walls or rhythms
of the lub-dub doctrine

Look there, in the corner
where pigments swirl
birthing a fifth chamber

an irregular heart
made new
for a new way
a new day
a new doctrine

**********************************************************************************
Litter

A mirror image lies
beneath the soaring boughs
of a white oak tree

it's astounding,
the luxury of it all

as golden hues of fallen
and to be fallen
compete for my gaze

it's reminiscent,
the duplicity of summer

when crepe myrtles
drop their pink petticoats
on the floor

rushing into another season

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

A Journey in Two Stanzas

on a journey
with words suspended,
between the lines
old thoughts upended

hands moving cautiously
left to right,
voices give wings
words take flight

Ma'am...Excuse me Ma'am

I'm standing at the Kangaroo Mart in Ashland City pumping gas, minding my own business and this disembodied voice floats over my head from behind. I don't know, I must have been daydreaming because I realized he'd said it several times before I turned to see an aged black man handing me a business card. His pea green cap was emblazoned with "Koren War Veteran" along the crisp creased side.

I look down at the business card. It read:

"PET"

Cremation or Burial

Like I said, I was daydreaming so it didn't sink in. It was the words "Beloved Pet" on the facsimile of a headstone that did it, sort of like a lightening bolt.

I looked at Mocha's sweet brown face peering out the open car window, looked down at the business card in my hand and a little piece of me died.

Beaufort Ghost Tour

On our way to Beaufort, we couldn't resist stopping for this photo op at the Gay Fish Co. in Port Royal.




Have mercy! This Southern Belle is draped over the porch railing of the oldest home in Beaufort, SC. This is just one of the ghostly residents portrayed on the annual Ghost Tour. We traveled by horse-drawn carriage beneath ancient live oak trees dripping with Spanish moss. As daylight turned to dusk all manner of creatures greeted us with their tales of whoa and sorrow.



Unfortunately, we weren't allowed entrance to any of the stately homes on the tour. At the pace our horse took, we had ample opportunity to peak in the windows!

Many of the homes were for sale. Word to the wise, the annual upkeep would soon surpass the purchase price, so make sure your pockets are very, very deep and full of coin.

Dataw Island Treasures

An unimposing sign read "Dataw Island" with an arrow pointing right. Linda and I looked at each other and said, "I'm game!" so down the road we turned not knowing we'd stumble upon a treasure trove, one discovered by Spanish explorers in 1514.

Here, you see one of the many winged inhabitants, a Great Egret. Sir Bird was wading casually through the marsh grass shopping for a snack. He turned his magnificent head my direction as I craned my body out the car window to get a good shot.




Linda drove slowly keeping pace with Sir Bird, who did not take kindly to our attention. He unfolded those massive wings and swooped over the top of the marsh grass. I swear he looked back at me with a "get thee far, far away" look in his eye.




Much of Dataw Island is now a posh, gated golf community complete with a manned guard house at the entrance. I've never been deterred by gates or no-trespassing signs, especially if something on the other side has caught my eye. Linda brought the car to a stop and the guard eyed us warily, asking the nature of our business. Before I could open my mouth, Linda told her we were considering having dinner in their upscale restaurant at the Club House and would like to take a look before we made up our mind. Ha, 'atta girl!

The development is pretty much what you'd expect, clean streets, manicured lawns, cookie cutter architecture and shiny cars. Except, as we passed the golf course, the ruin of a building caught my eye. "Turn in here!" I exclaimed.

We couldn't believe our luck, the ruins of Williams Sams' 1786 cotton plantation, constructed of tabby, a unique material made by burning oyster shells to extract lime, then mixed with sand and shells and shaped into wooden molds to form walls and columns. The enormous fireplace casts a long shadow on the leaves which litter the floor of the cook house.

The remains of the Sams family rest under the far-reaching, Spanish-Moss-draped arms of a live oak tree. Seems a fitting and peaceful place to spend eternity.

La La Knee and 167 Steps!

The lighthouse on Hunting Island State Park stands 132 feet above ground. Originally built in 1859, the Confederate Army destroyed it to prevent the Union Army from navigating by its beacon in the night. Luckily, the lighthouse was rebuilt in 1879 and has witnessed a much greater enemy, erosion.

A modified spiral staircase of 167 steps is the only means to get to the top and experience a 360 view of the horizon. Although briefly hesitant to take that first step, the Lovely Linda, me and LaLa Knee started the climb and holy cow was it worth it!

From the observation platform looking north, we towered over the tops of the maritime forest and the Atlantic Ocean. Although a windy day, the ocean was serene, not the cacophonous and moody Atlantic I know from New Hampshire, Maine and Massachusetts.

The Lovely Linda looks a little nervous, wouldn't you say? After we made it safely back to Terra firma, someone stopped us to ask if it was a difficult climb to the top. I assured him that if I, a middle-aged and rotund wielder of one artificial knee could do it, he certainly could too!

Tomorrow: Faking your way through security and stumbling upon the ruins of an old plantation!

In Need of the Horizon

For weeks, the muscles across my chest and shoulders have been tight and I've not been able to breathe deeply. I've come to understand that this tightness is not an illness (of the medical variety) but of the spirit. A physical prompt to let me know it's time to seek the landscape which feeds my soul, clears my mind, loosens muscles and lets me breathe deeply. That landscape is the horizon. To be surrounded by uninterrupted sky meeting land without a single object stopping the eye is for me, soul food.

Lucky for me, the Lovely Linda planned a belated birthday trip to the South Carolina Low Country. For the uninitiated, like me, the "Low Country" is a string of barrier and sea islands from Charleston to Savannah. Topographically, what this area offers are wide and uninterrupted views of golden marshes that march right down to the Atlantic Ocean. The perfect setup for horizon-gazing. In other words, heaven.

At the end of a boardwalk stretching deep into the marshes on Hunting Island is this view. The marsh grass (Spartina alterniflora) reminds me of mature fields of rice ready for harvest. And look at that horizon! I said out loud, "Who could not love this view?" to which Linda replied, "When you look at the horizon, you see endless possibilities, but someone else may look at it and see emptiness." As I stood there transfixed, the muscles across my chest and shoulders began to loosen. I took in a deep breath and let out a long sigh and again stood in the presence of a vast horizon.

As the sun rose higher in the sky an interesting thing occurred. Looking out over the marsh, the air just above the tops of the grass appeared blurry and the color of the light was golden, almost mirage-like. I was lucky enough to get this picture, which saw what my eyes saw.

The backdrop in this photo is the edge of a maritime forest that grows all the way to the ocean. Semi-tropical in nature, the predominant trees are pine and palmetto.

Spartina alterniflora up close. When first taking this picture, I thought those were seeds, but now I'm not so sure. One of the naturalists we met along the way told us that as the tide rises, snails and other creatures climb the stalk until the tide ebbs, and then feeds again in the nutrient-rich pluff mud.

Hmm...

Tomorrow...Day Two...We climb a lighthouse!

Five to the One

It's my birthday and I'll swing if I want to
Swing if I want to
Swing if I want to
You would swing to
if'n you could too!

Yes Blogosphere, today is my birthday. It's also the first day of Fall and the first day of the sun sign Libra. Quite an auspicious day to be born, don't you think?

Here's my agenda for the day:

1. Sleep until 8:30
2. Work for a few hours in the office
3. Put on wandering clothes
4. Wander
5. Stop for a celebratory cupcake
6. Swing
7. Have dinner with a good friend

Are you curious about #4 and #7?

#4 - Wandering has been a favored activity in my life for many decades. In my twenties, I would grab a bunch of change, walk to the nearest bus stop, get on and ride until I saw something interesting, get off, wander around/explore, get on another bus, rinse and repeat until I finally made it home - usually well beyond dark-thirty. Today, my wandering will be done by car, but I will embrace the spirit of well, letting the spirit lead me with no set destination.

#7 - Swinging is one of my favorite activities. How could you not love playing fast and loose with gravity? I love the rhythm of forward and back, the pulse of pumping arms and legs, the soaring higher and higher until your heart (and stomach) are doing a dance. And then, the penultimate experience of making your body like a board, then pulling up as the arc of the swing reaches its apex. That's when you know you are ALIVE!

It is good to be living in this 5th decade of my life. My birthday wish for you is that you know, embrace and participate in those things that make your heart sing...today and always.

My Constant Companion

I can feel Miss Mocha sleeping soundly behind my big comfy chair. No, she's not snoring or moaning or chasing bunnies in her sleep, she's simply there. Her birthday is coming up in October and she'll be 12. She's always been a strong, healthy dog only going to the vet for annual vaccinations. As more whiskers start to turn white on her brown nose, she's slowing down a little, showing some aches and pains and just a touch of little-old-lady crankiness.


This week she had her teeth cleaned and the vet had to extract a cracked tooth. I agonized over the decision to subject her to anesthesia at her age, but am glad I said yes. She seems to be bouncing back just fine.


These days, my mind opens the door (just a crack) to the reality that there will come a time when her presence will be but a memory. A warm, brown, sweet, bossy, snugly, romp-through-the-woods kind of memory.