Road trip: Writers workshop

Rosie has another one of her  Great Ideas  this morning. it was for another road trip to a writers conference up in the north woods, to write and visit Reesie.

Unfortunately, the only time JC could take off was in the summer so they made it for July.  LoNoWriMo. the local novel writing month, challenge starts on July 1st at 12 am.   30 days of nothing but novel writing.  50,000 words minimum.   Amy put her son into a month long summer camp on Lake Peealotta. near the Canadian border, so it was convenient for her to come as well.  Reese fired up the rock star bus and brought her youngest daughter with her for some much needed fishing, swimming and R&R. 

Rosie knew the backwoods well and snagged some prime real estate on Lake FoggyOften.  Everyone had their own suite overlooking the lake and there was a floor to ceiling fireplace to gather and write around on the north side of the lodge. The east side was all glass, showcasing the Lake.  The North side was mason work of gorgeous Canadian granite and Pine cross beams.

Yeah something like that...

They planned to arrive for the night before July 1st. so they could stay up and drink wine and giggle around till Midnight to start their novels.   Reese had brought large white boards for outlining her novel.  JC had a bunch of yellow sheets of legal paper bound up in a folder, Rosie had it all in her head and Amy brought some doodles she had done of the different chapters in her book.

The lodge's large grandfather clock stood there ticking as it got closer to Midnight.  They had been laughing loud and long and finally quieted down as they looked expectantly to JC.

GOOOO! he said. with his best baritone vigor.


When suddenly there is a sound overheard of a twin engine sea plane skimming the roof.  They run to the windows and to the door in time to see the plane land deftly near the pier and a lone passenger pop out.

FLY!!  We didn't think he would make it, he said he couldn't come, but there he was!  Ready to write and draw and create chaos out of tranquility.

woo hoo. suddenly they were five strong.

dandelion

the last time i felt like i fit in..

i remember never feeling like i fit in anywhere.  its a common feeling.  fear of being an outcast.  fear of being alone.  you would have never known i felt this way.  i was well liked by most.  but..my brother had all the friends.  i was always the shy goofy one.  i didnt find my legs til college.. far away from his song and dance. 

do i ever really fit in?  does it matter? 

i know people like me.  im 'cute' and 'witty' and 'talented' and 'funny haha'..  but that doesnt make me feel like i fit in.  certainly doesnt mean that i do.  i used to care.

i decided long ago, that i didnt need to fit in anywhere.  i am completely self-sufficient.  this was difficult for me.......im a people pleaser.. to a fault.  but caring what people thought about me was making me unhappy.  i still care a lot about what people think of me.. but i dont care if i fit in. 

because i fit wherever i damn well decide to plant myself.  just for the sheer fact that i am there.  whether people accept me or not, is totally up to them. 

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

i feel like i belong here.  with this crowd.  we share laughs and games and stories.. and a whole lot more.  close personal bonds i will cherish my entire life.  i feel nurtured.  cared for.  loved even.  doesnt mean i really fit in.  just means we share a common goal.. of friendship.. meaningful friendship.  i can be who i am, where i am planted right now.. may my roots grow deep.. like the ruddiest dandelion.  RAWR.

tell about the last time you felt you fit in.

The last time I felt like I fit in was about 10 minutes ago sitting with Reese, Jean, Amy and JC.  I feel like I can be myself most of the time. 


If I hold my breath and watch myself very closely, I can fit in around people for a very short time.  I have to watch my mouth so closely, because I laugh easily and I have to watch out that I don't make jokes. I don't fit in to desk jobs where you have to concentrate and work a deadline.


My last volunteer position was at my son's school library.  I really had to be quiet then.  But the librarian was a wonderful woman with an acerbic wit and we got along like two ducks in a puddle.  She was bright and dedicated to teaching her students and she was opinionated and didn't put up with fools easily.  Yet she was sweet.  I worked with her for part of 6th grade and most of 7th being honestly helpful, freeing her up to work with students while I manned the desk.  I ended up learning the names of half the school's students too.  They knew me and I knew them.  Librarians are a bit like confessors.  Kids come in and blow off steam and tell you their troubles.

My writing is getting too colloquial and full of cheap metaphors.

I digress.

When I ran an infant nursery in Santa Barbara, I was fitting in perfectly to twelve families' lives.   They entrusted me with their children and we built a community from the day care.  When you run a service business, you have to either give people what they want and fit into their needs or you pick your people carefully and have them fit into yours.  I was very picky and weeded out the people who didn't fit it with my philosophy of child rearing.  It made for easier days and harmonious relationships.

{[ Ok..so I'm gonna do it ]}

OK so here goes..

I have never fit in no matter

were I may be.

Every breath I take, I take

it only with me.

People in this world of hate,

is just not for me.

I cry..and I drown in a free

flowing lake.

I'd rather not be sitting here

typing of things

that sadden me everyday.

I had rather be

speaking in verses of feelings

I can not show.

It's a horrible way to live as

you sit back

and keep things so dear to ones

self.

{[ Nightmares ]}

I ..dont dream of happy thoughts, I never have.

My dreams are the same night after night.

Crying..in pain.

I don't much sleep...

and when I don't sleep I get terrible headaches.

My recurring nightmare of being held down out of my will.

Feeling as if I was being punished

for something I had done.

Here lately..

I've slept and dreamt of falling..

It's the same dream everytime for the past week.

Softly drifting down like a feather.

I don't want these dreams to stop.

They are the best I have had in a very

long time..

Power Dreaming

I used to have nightmares.  Terrifying dreams, that would ruin my sleep and leave me clammy in the middle of the night.  So as I got older, I went about systematically squishing down the dreams and pushing them into more manageable forms.

One of the first things we did as young married folk, was explore the concept of lucid dreaming.  That is a dream that you know that you are dreaming inside the dream.   Lucid dreaming cuts down on nightmares.

We would put on music and talk about a theme for dreaming and we would try to 'look at our hands' in the dream.  Our goal was to have the same or similar dreams and to be authors and controllers of them.   Looking at your hands in a dream is a trigger that helps you realize you are dreaming.  It could be anything, I suppose, but that's what we did.  :)

Dan had an out of body experience in a dream or in a near dream like state.   He said he was floating from his body and could see the room, the ceiling, the sky the solar system and was well on his way to leaving the universe when he says, I woke up momentarily, and in my sleepy voice, said. "Danny come back."  He woke up instantly hearing my voice both in his head in the dream and then in real life.   And he felt his soul wind back into his body.   Spooky,  we stopped reading Carlos Castanedas and experimenting with altered Reality for a while.

I have a reoccurring dream that I've had for decades, about a large extremely complicated house set in an amusement park, or a farm, on a hill, round a bay, down the road. and often in a Mediterranean type of setting.  It's filled to the brim, every room with curios and dusty old things, and random possessions of the former occupants.  Even in hotel rooms in my dreams, there are labyrinths and doors to open and explore.   I recognize that I am having the familiar dream, in my dream.  It's like an old friend that visits me.

I used to have endless elevator and metal stairs and lost in the city dreams.  I would lose track of Dan and he would be delayed, then I wouldn't be able to find my way home from there.  I put a stop to that type of dream by deciding that anytime I would get lost, I would call a cab using the money I has put in my shoe.  No more trudging in the alleyways till my feet were blistered for me.

i never forget a face

when i was about 7 i had these.. weird.. freaky.. recurring dreams.  i had this dream for at least a year.. not every night.. but quite frequently.

it was always halloween.
and next door i would go trick or treating.. for some reason only to that house.  and i was always alone.
i would walk slowly up the steps, ring the doorbell, and wait.

now it gets kinda strange.. mind you, i was a kid..

frankenstein's monster and igor.. answer the door.  and i see their faces clear as day.  even now.  i never forget a face.  the monster looked like a tall gaunt older man.. sallow skin, sunken cheeks and blackish bags under his eyes.  igor was, yeah.. short.  but had straight black hair in a bowl cut.. same sallow skin, same blackish circles under the piercing evil eyes.  and he is a.. kid.

they grab me and drag me screaming into the house.

they drag me into the basement and torture me.

the next day.  i am out on the street, wandering in full daylight.  and no one is to be found.

and i wake.  completely freaked.  every time.

FAST FORWARD

im maybe 12 and we get new neighbors.  well.. the nice little old lady next door has a son who's moving back home with his kid. the kid is 13.  mom says steer clear, they are trouble.  we steered clear.  i never once set foot in that house, though my brother and sister and i had many altercations with that kid over the time they lived there. 

i will never forget the day they moved in. 
i remember their faces from my dream.

disrespect

rehearsal was going.. as well as could be expected.  ronnie runs his rehearsals with a lot of chit-chat, guffaws, and gum chewing unprofessionalism.  one afternoon rehearsal with soloists and orchestra, dinner, then right straight into the performance at 7pm.

this was the third time in 9 years jc sang the magnificat with this choir and orchestra.  he was confident, but nervous as always.  two new replacement soloists added to the intensity of the moment.  young kids just out of college, all fluttery and ready to sing.  like puppies you just want to pat on the head and instruct to sit and stay.

small talk began during the choral numbers.  he hated small talk.  especially the kind that included name dropping and 'my teacher this..' and 'my teacher that..'.  and then the inevitable.. 'well, you are a veteran..' rolled right off the tenor's tongue and jc wanted to punch this guy.  instead, he grinned, put on his old geezer glasses, crossed his leg, pulled out his score, and ignored the kid.

the first solo was for the young tenor.  he had a nice, typical conservatory sound.  resonant, heavy, and pushed.  just exactly the sound that gets tenors roles but finishes their careers fairly early. 

and then, it was time for jc to sing.
he stood up. 
and as he stood.. there was a collective gasp behind him.

the tenor was standing too.

why the hell was the tenor standing?

for a brief moment, all eyes were on jc.  shock and embarrassment and then rage coursed through him within seconds.  time seemed to stand still.  everyone was frozen.  the orchestra staring, the choir silent behind him,  ronnie even stopped chewing his gum in his bewilderment.  no one moved a muscle or rustled a page. 

and then he spoke..

ahem.  ronnie, who will be singing this solo?

oh.  i dont really care which of you sings it.  you two duke it out.  ronnie blurted offhandedly.

WHAT? 
-followed by dead silence.

you need to make a decision.

the tenor piped in his two cents.  'doesnt matter to me, old man.'  but didnt take a seat.

ronnie, are you going to make a decision.?

ronnie just stared.. unsure yet unbudging.

jc took a very long, relaxed breath and looked around the room.  all eyes were still riveted to him.  he glanced back at the choir, smiled casually, and took a seat.

rehearsal resumed.  afterward, the tenor leaned in and explained in a somewhat panicky tone, 'ronnie called me and told me to learn the solo.'  jc shrugged.  poor kid was caught in the middle.  let him have his moment.


it would be a long time before he ever sang with this organization again.

BRAVO for the visuals

{[ The Goddess I Once Was ]}

~*The Goddess I Once Was*~

Long ago I believed to be the most beautiful and wanted woman in the world. Men groveled at their feet for me. Couldn't take their eyes off of me. My seductive and lusted ways always kept men wanting for more. Begging for more..

I was beautiful like no other woman. Long flowing thick chocolate curled tresses held tightly upon my head with band. To show lightly toned milk skinned neck. Small little tangles hanging loosely that would blow softly against my neck as the wind blew.

Deep forest green eyes the window to my soul. Thick pouty lips just begging to be kissed. Full voluptuous breast, men couldn't take their eyes off of. Pefected shaped body  identical to an hourglass. Legs...legs that would go forever.

I was made from the bloody tears of my father, crying into the ocean mixing with the foam. After my eldest brother Kronos castrated him. I even once had a husband, the ugliest of all the gods.

He was a god of metalworking. He made me a piece of fine jewelry which adorned my neck.This item just made men want me even more for the powers it witheld. I adored my sexual accounters with my consort Ares God of War.

I had many affairs with men mortal and devine. Even sirens that would keep men held for days and weeks for my liking. My name was Aphrodite Goddess of Love, Passion, Sex, Beauty and Procreation.

http://www.theoi.com/Summary/Aphrodite.html

-----------------------------------------

Side Note..I've always been fond of Greek Mathology,

studied it in school.

Frowning and Desk Flip

In a former Life..

In former lives, I was adventurous, curious and reckless, so I died early and often.  I was a hot head and principled, so I got into trouble from life to life. 

Our family goes back to the section of Scotch Irish landed on Ireland by the English to annoy the natives. And some of our family traces back to the natives, the oldest inhabitants.  I believe I was one of the earliest settlers that walked up from the frozen ice to land in that Island and then went on to thrive and stumble along after it got land bound.  I was a Celt.  A thick necked long waisted, thick ankled Germanic crossbreed, who helped build the ring forts with my strong back and who would cross over into England to grab a slow moving Breton to take back to Ireland as a slave..

I believe I was one of the families of Vermont freemen, who retreated into the hills and hunted and took part in the rebellion.  I was landed in Vermont when the  Scottish-American Land Company brought Scottish settlers to Ryegat.  I was a fertile woman in that time period, strong and proud in the new land.  I birthed a dozen children,  specialized in herbal folk lore and avoided being burnt for a witch.

During the civil war, I refused to fight and went up to PEI to wait out the war.  (hee hee)

In  later lives I migrated down the Appalachian trail through to the Ozarks and up the Mississippi where I was born into who I am now.  I followed the blue grass music and the banjo melodies.

who was i

i wish i coulda been john wayne.. what a cool dude.. but no he was still alive when i was a kid

so who was i in a former life..

i was a pyramid builder in egypt.  i lived in a small village along the nile.  my hands rough from masonary work.  my body wracked with pain day in and day out.   i took pride in my duty.. to glorify the pharoah and my homeland egypt.. to posterity.  and i was a woman.

Loneliness

For a long time I kept myself to an even keel.  I felt busy, loved and secure in my little safe world.   It was small, but it was predictable, and I really cherished the quiet times for reflection. 

Then I found a group of cheerful people and I grew out towards their light a bit.  I became a little more sociable, chatted a bit more.    Even when I was trying to concentrate on the win, I would grab my chat box and text something in reply.

I grew to treasure and look forward to some of them.  grins You know who you are.  I was content to balance typing and playing and the lag of conversations was normal.  You got your talking done in small bites.

It is easy to keep it superficial when you just chat at the beginning and in between rounds.  Even so we managed to create deep meaningful relationships.

Then I fired up live chat.  OH SHIT.  it was like  Dorothy going over the rainbow into color.  The tones of voices, and the laughter. and the singing.  It is so beguiling.  After living in my own head for so long. I got giddy from it.  It was so much more than nice.  I sang.  My heart tore a bit.  Someone from my family  told me I couldn't sing;  to shut up.  My heart tore a big wide river of hurt.  I cried and got angry about it.  I want to sing.

Now I feel loneliness, and it isn't much fun.  I'm not on an even keel.   I don't like the silences.  I don't like playing pool in black and white anymore. I like Reese's giggle.  It is like the sun comes out. 

I don't like a huge cacophony in my head, but I do like my special peeps sounding off in my life.

loneliness

something with which we are all familiar.

hm loneliness.. its shitty.. but its unavoidable..

i live alone
i choose to live alone because i like my freedom
because people aggravate me
im difficult
im anti-social
and shy

things most of my online friends do not believe.  thats ok.  im alone in my truth.

i embrace loneliness because sometimes it is better than the alternative.  interaction with people drains me.  drama drains me.  love drains me.  most times it seems everyone wants something from me.. and i can only give so much.  and i never did like to say the word no.  i live in my head.. and in my head, people are always considerate of each other and dont ask too much because they understand.  in reality.. no one understands me.  and in reality.. i understand no one.  and that makes me feel so much more alone. 

every day i see smiling faces.  and i smile back.  i connect with each student i teach.. each parent who wants to share some insight.  it eases the pain of loneliness.  temporarily. 
they dont know me. 

when you have a talent that is great..  it alienates you.  renders you unapproachable.
partly because you put up a wall that is insurmountable.. for protection.

as a singer, i yearn to communicate.  through music i feel a communion with the audience..  an energy of one.  the loneliness is appeased.  temporarily.

i will die alone.  none of it matters.  i feel sick.  and though i am afraid of a lot of things that may seem absolutely ridiculous..  im not afraid of loneliness.  it is far too familiar.

Eric Whitacre's Virtual Choir

or.. slowed down to 60 minutes, what a trip


http://soundcloud.com/paulnasca/eric-whitacres-virtual-choir-2

{[ Speechless ]}

Happy.
Thoughtful.
Understanding.
Caring.
Loving.
Tenderness.
Wanting.
Admire.
Longing.

Complete ..Silence.

i was reading today..

E.H. Gombrich The Story of Art


High School
Textbook used for Art History class 1991

'What upset the public about Expressionist art was, perhaps, not so much the fact that nature had been distorted as that the result led away from beauty.  That the caricaturist may show up the ugliness of man was granted -- it was his job.  But that men who claimed to be serious artists should forget that if they must change the appearance of things they should idealize them rather than make them ugly was strongly resented.  But Munch might have retorted that a shout of anguish is not beautiful, and that it would be insincere to look only at the pleasing side of life.  For the Expressionists felt so strongly about human suffering, poverty, violence, and passion, that they were inclined to think that the insistence on harmony and beauty in art was only born out of the refusal to be honest...... The question whether we should call such work ugly or beautiful is as irrelevant here as it was in the case of Rembrandt, of Grunewald, or of those 'primitive' works which the Expressionists most admired.'

just found it.. interesting

A case of the eyes

She woke up in tears and rolled over to retch and cough.  Every time she thought of it she would grab her stomach and choke back the bile and the tears.  No matter where she put her head or her mind, within a few minutes the images would all come back to her and take another swipe at her sanity.

There he was exposing himself, careful to keep it shielded from the view of others.  This long snake hanging down outside his pants was for her eyes only.  It took her a while to realize that she was actually seeing what was there in front of her.  And how he looked over to the other patrons and back to her, the main thrill he was having was that they had no idea what he was doing.  He carefully placed himself behind the washing machines to stay out of their line of sight.  And the expectant look on his face...

Thinking about it 50 years later still made her grimace and shudder.  It had been dormant for a long time, but it had come back to worry her till she beat it back.  Like a snake found slithering in the grass, she lifted the memory up and walked it to the edge of her garden with her iron rake at arms length, and helped it over the fence.

It was gone.

I

I hold myself accountable
for every goddamn little minute thing I do
every action
today..
I dont regret
I dont question
but I have my eyes wide open

I communicate
I observe
I learn
I try

I live
I breathe
I respect
I love

I

any of you have a home remedy for overinflated ego?  I think I need a healthy dose.

Doom is stalking me.

That's what I feel like today. That creepy uneasy feeling that doom is stalking me.   I feel like I've made mistakes that will permanently changes things, and not for the good.   I let my son go out to walk and be with his friends.  He can get access to weed on the outside.  On the inside where I can try to keep him safe, he pushes me to the breaking point, and that is not a safe thing either.  I want him out of our house and in a facility where they can make structure and consequences and he has no one to manipulate and play his little mind games with.

But most importantly I want this feeling of doom hanging over me to lighten up and shift or melt away.

I feel trapped.  I don't see a way out. 


Note to self: don't read Stephen King books when you feel this way.

I Have Seen The Light!

I Have Seen The Light!

August/September 2005

There I lay in ICU, possibly dying.

Dr’s do not know what they are dealing with.

Is it bacterial or viral???

I cannot breathe…

I cannot move, not even a toe or my readings went haywire.

I am so pumped full of antibiotics and because of this, any test they did would not show a true reading.

Double the oxygen!

So short of breath.

Two days later:

My brothers wedding…missed because there would not be enough oxygen for me.

Oh how I longed for fresh air…not the air being forced into my nostrils. Finally one day I was wheeled outdoors for a short time…me and my bed. Oh that was great! Fresh air, the warmth of the sun, birds chirpin…

My mind is foggy! Memory faded! I ask the same questions…over and over and over. They repeat same answers.

Days passed. Days mean nothing. I cannot be released yet. I want to be able to talk a full sentence again without gasping for air after only 2 words. I want to be able to get out of bed on my own and hop back in and not have to wait 20 minutes before my breathing settled down. I want to go home.

I see light! Is this the light people talk about? Can I follow it? Can someone help guide me closer?

Oh that light was so inviting. I wanted more…more light. Brightest light I had ever seen. I want to follow it. The more I moved, the brighter it got. It was bright, so bright it was hurting my eyes.  I was being wheeled out of my room. The lights were so bright!

share...

Share…

Tonight I shared my tears with my journalists.

Usually my tears are hurting tears. Tonight it was no different.

I was hurting.

I was hurting so much inside and out.

Did they care?

No…they kept me in tears.

It started in the morning

And it was still going late at night.

You ask, why are they your journal friends?

They make you hurt inside and out.

They make you cry when you don’t want to.

You try fighting it back but they bring it on even more.

They are the best journalists. They have me in tears.

Tears of joy.

Tears of laughter.

I hurt from the laughter.

I shared a box of tissues!

The box of boogy tissues took it over the top.

Laughter

Tears

Hurt

---------------------------------------


We are also sharing Forever Young with a new journalist!
Welcome Amy!

JC my friend...

JC my friend…

I’ve been wondering if his students of vocals call him Mr. McLovin! Hmmmm…does have a ring to it!

I’ve only known JC for a couple of months but it sure seems longer. Just last night we were chatting and trying to figure out how long we’ve been together. No one really knows for sure. It just happened.

One day JC said “Reese, you have a voice” use it. I thought he meant my singing voice and thought…how does he know what my vocals sound like? No one ever asks me to sing.

Back in my high school years, I took choir and I did get an A. Not that I deserved it, but the teacher knew I couldn’t carry a tune for the life of me. The harder I tried, the worse I sounded.

JC is an art of music.

JC is a listener.

JC is a comforter.

JC has a huge heart and spreads it throughout.

JC is a friend.

A friend that will listen. No matter what time of day. No matter what the subject.

JC a voice…my journalist friend.

birdie...the ghost

When I was younger…much younger, one of my friends had an Ouiji Board. I used to go by her house and watch them play around with it. Back then I thought it was a put on and it never scared me. They used to talk to it, ask it questions and their hands would move around the table for the answers. Weird!

Then they asked a question: Is there a ghost in this house?
The power took their hands to “yes”.
Does the ghost have a name?
Their hands were directed to b i r d i e. Hmmm birdie. That’s a silly name for a ghost.
They swore that birdie lived upstairs in this 100+ year old house. They would hear strange noises throughout the day and night.
Lights would flicker.
Footsteps walking on the wood floor creaking through the boards.

I was reluctant to stay overnight. Even though I don’t believe in ghosts, I don’t want to take the chance. The chance that perhaps if I did stay and I did hear noises, I would be frozen in time. At the age of 14, you did the “in” thing… You smoked and drank to fit in. You wanted to be cool…not called a scardy cat…or chicken or big baby…Not good for the reputation!

Well, I ended up marrying into this family. Strange but true! I would never make my presence known when no one else was there… just in case.

Don’t call me scared, don’t call me chicken and don’t call me a baby…I was just being cautious.

Of all the times I was there, I never heard or seen anything unnatural. So, to me, I was thinking that they all just played the game and let there imaginations get trapped in their minds. They still talked of “birdie” but that’s all it was is talk. Until…..
When my in-laws passed, the kids had to get the house ready for selling. One thing that needed to be done was in one of the upstairs bedrooms, there was wallpaper that definitely needed to be removed. I along with hubby, and a couple of hubbys siblings were upstairs wettening the wallpaper and scraping it off the walls. Hubby went downstairs. I turned around and I am the only one left in that room. I just keep on scraping.
I do hear a voice, I do have a feeling of something strange going on and I do get goose bumps. I flew down the stairs and never took that walk up those steps again. Even though I never had an encounter with “birdie”, I do believe that there actually was someone not visible to the human eye in that house. A ghost, maybe not but a spirit, yes. Besides, Sylvia Brown says it happens all the time. I went to 2 of her sessions. I am a believer!

_______________________

My neighbor lady’s husband passed away in the house they had lived in for many years. Lights would turn on, lights would turn off and the same with the t.v. His hands rubbing against the wall as he would make his way to their bedroom. She was never alone.

Can you hear me

The day is Thursday…can’t wait to get on lc (live chat)…saves on the finger tips.

Ah, finally, there’s Rosie, JC and Amy. Now all four of us are on live chat chanting our usual. Morning…morning…morning…!

How’s your day…

Do you have to work…

What’s up for the day?...

Wanna play?...

Playing games is so much fun now that we can talk and listen and play all at the same time. Games were fun before but I would miss out on so much cause they all know Reese is not a multi-tasker!

We decide after a few games of pool that we should go and draw. Hey, lets draw with other random players and we can tell each other what we are drawing before it is even drawn and the other players won’t know what’s going on. We can really rack up the points. Winners every time! Hmmm…sounds like fun! So, this is what we did. JC spoke and we raced to see who could type the fastest. Sometimes the word was typed before the drawer drew. Ha ha…funny! Someone typed “hax”….. so the other players caught on. 

Ok….now what should we do…hmmm

Oh well, I guess we just went back to our chat room and talked.

Amy says “brb” Reese says, “poof she’s gone already…she is faster than a speeding bullet”.  All of a sudden in the low pitched southern, Amy says “AH CAN STILL HEAR YOU”!

Oh that was a moment!!!

Then there was Rosie with her mixed signals. JC did <.< which means to look to the left or >.> look to the right. Well, our little miss Rosie said she thought those were ti.ts. (turned sideways)

“ Hi, how are you today”   >.>    <.<   “I’m fine today, thanks”.

She thought they were ti.ts that were talking to each other.

Oh what a good day!

discordant

i sit here looking at the scream prompt. 

this scream..
is silent
not quiet
but a powerful voice.
horrific
disturbed

how many times i have silently screamed..
.. digested the ugly discordant noise of a world that is cleverly masked in beauty.

distant and howling
like a shrill nagging whistle..
whining dissonance crying to be soothed.
harping
in reedy hollow tones

haunted.
teetering on the edge of reality
begging on my knees
for relief
release..

in the pure sweet silence of a vacuum

{[ Free Falling ]}

I step..
    I walk..
         Ground gone..


Falling.
     down...
        down...
           down...


Heart beat racing.
      faster...
         faster...
            faster...


Echoes.
   louder...
      louder...
         louder...




Eyes closed.
     tighter...
        tighter...
           tigher...




Am I ever going to touch the
..
..
..
   ground?

The Scream

In spite of the chaos at home, I was too dang happy yesterday to write about the Scream.  My journal companions and I were laughing and making merry and I didn't want to stop that silliness to take up a serious topic.

Well it struck me this morning, the image of the woman screaming, enough enough enough!  I have truly had my fill of the intensity that our house runs in.  Today is the day that was scheduled for my hubby and I to go out to eat and go on a beach date.  But son is refusing to go to school today.  My husband has said he can come along and go fishing with us.  What?


What would have been a relaxing sea side excursion has turned into the Scream. I won't be allowed to sing in the car.  I will have to adjust my day to the reds and swirls of a busy turbulent emotional man-child.

My day was supposed to have been a Monet. 

{[ Happy ]}

I've never felt so good..until today.

alone:

"You are the last surviving member of the human race.  What do you do?"

I would miss my family, friends…
and journalists…Their writings have done so much for me. Some happy notes & some not. There is laughter and there are tears. I would have memories…

Now to survive:

I am a lover of animals. I would be like Noah and gather 2 of each animal. Yup, that’s what I would do.

I would have my own little family.

I would teach birds to talk…then I could have a conversation with them.

I really do hope if this would ever happen to me, I would not be stuck in freezing, icy, snowy unpredictable Wisconsin. I want to be somewhere warm. Not too hot and not too cold.

Just right…like in the Three Bears Book. Mhm….you got it!

I was once told it is:

Ok to talk to yourself,

Ok to answer yourself

But not ok to interrupt yourself…

Men in their white coats would come and take me away!

Hey, wait a minute…there are no other peoples to take me away.

Hyena’s laugh…

Birds talk…

Cats purr

Dogs protect…

Fish relieve stress…

Horses can be ridden…

Dolphins swim with you…

Monkeys…they’re almost human…

As long as I would still have living creatures among me…

I think I would survive…for how long? --- I’m not sure.

I’d have to be a vegetarian since I would not be able to kill and eat an animal. Heck, I scoop up spiders in my house and release them outside.

*****I hope that whatever took everyone else’s lives also took all of my illnesses away.

I.....LLL

I…..LLL

February 22, 2012

What a day! I was up kind of early this morning. Starting the day with the usual…aches & pains. I was not able to get out of bed on my own. My right leg hurt, my left shoulder hurt, I ached all over. I relieved my bladder and sat in my lift chair. I reach over slowly and grinding teeth with movements to slide my laptop within reach. I turn on my laptop in hopes of finding Rosie or JC on to let them know that I won’t be on much because of the pain I was experiencing and not knowing if it will worsen or ease up. Oh good, there’s JC’s name…click and then the normal messaging starts in with morning, how are you, etc… I say to JC, “you’re up early today” and he responds back with “had to let the dogs out”. Oh…ok…small talk…

Then Rosie comes on and if you read her writing for the morning, she didn’t leave much out. It was a fantastic day! What a farewell to Jzai. He was not a friend of mine, but I did play against him in pool a couple of times. Very nice person. Well, anyways, Rosie didn’t explain that in order to voice talk you needed headphones or earplugs. I asked if my ear things would work from my i-pod. Rosie says “yes, get them”. I got my i-pod and unplugged the earplugs. I try pushing them in one open spot on the side of my laptop. Rosie keeps asking “Reese, are you on…I can’t hear you. I could hear them but my microphone wasn’t working right so they couldn’t hear me. Well, then miss Rosie says, “did you plug them in”?...That was a huge LOL on my end. I may not be the brightest color in the crayon box but I do know that they aren’t going to work sitting loose on my tray all coiled up like a dead rattlesnake.

Rosie keeps inviting friends to Father McLovin’s Confessional. What a riot!

Two sins for the price of one…

This was one special day!  A day to always be remembered. Farewell to Jzai and hearing people’s voices for the first time. Mhm…a day to remember!

I..... LIVED

I..... LAUGHED

I..... LOVED ………………………………………..EVERY MINUTE OF IT!

Hey…my pain eased up!

you KNOW it's JC

laughter fills my days and fills my nights
laughter.. i live on it
it keeps me going

i find so much in life.. hilarious

if you find my personality infectious.. listen to me laugh
its contagious
its loud
its boisterous
its who i am

i live in one of those neighborhoods where kids grow up and move down the block from mom and dad.. they just never leave.  one chilly october night, im out back on the deck drinking beer with a few of the nabes.  we are rolling in laughter.  the dude next door to me was so drunk he was starting to squint and wobble.  i knew he hit his limit as soon as he started singing Toni Braxton's Unbreak My Heart in his gawdawful howl.  im laughing, as usual.  everyone is laughing.   lady across the street is over.  her son lives down the street.  her cell phone rings, and i hear her say..

'yes.. you KNOW it's JC'

he called to find out if it was me laughing so loud.  his house was sealed tight, he was in the front room with the television on, kids were playing video games.. and he heard me.

9 doors down.

the Scream writing prompt

wikie source

The original German title given to the work by Munch was Der Schrei der Natur (The Scream of Nature). The Norwegian word skrik is usually translated as scream, but is cognate with the English shriek. Occasionally, the painting has been called The Cry.
In a page in his diary headed Nice 22.01.1892, Munch described his inspiration for the image thus:

I was walking along a path with two friends – the sun was setting – suddenly the sky turned blood red – I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence – there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city – my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety – and I sensed an infinite scream passing through nature.

http://www.steveartgallery.se/upload1/file-admin/images/%20Matthias%20%20Grunewald6.jpg




http://www.dinovalls.com/
http://www.dinovalls.com/gal_pic.php?file=0&page=0

Laughter is the Best Medicine!

Omg, what fun we had this am.  I got up kinda dismal and fussy, because my son wasn't going to go to school today.  He just fizzled out and lay there after getting high the previous day but one.

So lucky me, I see Reese on, woo hoo.  I see Jc on,  woo hoo too.  But I got to type back and forth between the two IM window.  Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, and witticisms are already flying.  How will I keep up!  Puff, puff.

I decide to make a chat room.  I call it Father McLovin's Confessional.  

Pretty cool.  Save some time.  Better cross pollinating chatting. I'm all about efficiency.  But a funny button is there.  Voice Chat.

Hmm...  I push it.  You know I'm going to push it.  It goes Kapow! and lights up green.  I love voice. Grins.

I am reminded that Jzai's last day is today.  I go invite him to our chat room.  He gets on voice chat.  His darling little sis gets on too. She sounds British, he sounds Neutral standard English.   He gets out his guitar.  I listen. Reese listens.  It is wonderful!  He's singing too.  a little.  Very nice. 

Amy and JC are slow adapters.   Amy has to be quiet. and Jc is well, shy. 

I'm laughing, typing, singing.  Uh uh, I have no shame.  I sing off key something terrible,  Reese's Doxie kept trying to join in. Ooooooooh ah Ooooooooh my ears she kept barking.

Finally I hear Amy I think.  And she sounds just like my sister.  I make out Reese..  I think... and she's just like my other sister.  We sound alike.  Omg we even laugh alike.

Then I hear this baritone.  Ha ha ha ha.  the table jiggles a little bit.  I giggle.  JC giggles.  We haw haw haw back and forth.  Jzai is laughing hard at us laughing. 

I got so much blood up into my brain laughing.  my serotonin levels must have lit up.  My pain went down as we laughed.

Laugh we did.  a stray girl comes in.   "Bless you, child" JC chats to her.  wtf she says?  priceless.

Amy chats in a joke about cookies on Styrofoam.   I read it out loud as she types and we howl over it, and contagiously laugh.

I wouldn't trade my journal buddies for thin thighs.

Hotlines. pass them on as needed

• Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696
• Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433
• LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255
• Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386
• Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743
• Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438
• Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673
• Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272
• Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000
• Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253

Sketches Part I

With encouragement from fellow blogger Rosie, I'll be sharing some of my pencil sketches from now on.

Please enjoy my latest attempt at capturing a likeness ;)

{[ Although ]}

Yesterday was a very hard day for me. All day long I walked the house
like a zombie cleaning. Brain mushed up like scrambled eggs. Feet
scooting across the carpet. Just..dragging. I was an emotional wreck.

I just wanted to take the time to thank my friends. Friends..thats a
really big word for me. I've never had friends like ones I have
now. There are so many words to describe each one of them.

Although I may be closer to ones more then others I still love them
all the same. I may not speak in large words..or words that make complete
sence sometimes but they still show that I care.  When I say such words as..


Good, caring,greatful, smart, friendly, happy, wise, unique, and most
of all love..


These words although so..simple describe how I feel for you all.
I'm a simple person..with simple words that have so much more
meaning. I want to personally thank each of you...in my own
simple way.


Rosie..thank you..for all that you do for me. Even though it may
be the tinest thing such as playing a game with me in complete silence.
I still enjoy you there. You helped me talk about the issue at hand
yesterday. And..although it was hard..I worked through it with you.
You ..helped me and I'm greatful for it.

Reese..I may not know you as well as the others but you are a riot.
You make me laugh everytime we are all together playing. You have
a certain spirit to you that makes you unique. I can't wait to get to
know you better then what I already have.

last but not least..

Jc..I've told you more then once from the bottom of my heart how
much your friendship means to me and of course you know cause I
bring it up every single day. So..this I am writing for you a bit differently..
you are to me like a sunset near the ocean. Beautiful hues of orange
and yellow.Warm..inviting..and safe.. like a blankie.

I DONT KNOW!!!!

"You are the last surviving member of the human race.  What do you do?"

i can't rock this topic
because as much as i say i hate people
i really don't
i love them

i love all their little strange idiosyncrasies..
i love that though there is individualism, we function the same
everything about us, all the things we say and do.. explainable
we are infinitely fascinating
and yet... we are finite


what would i do if i were the last survivor of the human race?
would it really matter?
does it matter what i do today?  even with other people in the world?

we are together
but
we are alone

no matter how many children we beget
no matter how many friends we have

we are together
but
we are alone

i dont know..
im having a hard time wrapping my mind around alone...
because we are energy
and i think therefore all connected... even when we die... the energy has to.. go somewhere!
connected.. to each other, flora and fauna.. with everything
do we choose to be alone?
how lofty.. to think we are so different, so much better than the tiniest unit of.. life
do we set ourselves apart..?

sometimes i alienate people.
because i find them tiresome.
exhausting.
i just walk away.
so i am grappling with answering the looming question.

what would i do..

sing
sleep
get drunk
eat whatever i want
run
sit and ponder
look in every crevice and cave to see if..  if i really were the last person on earth..
and write. 
i would write about some of the most fascinating creatures to ever walk the planet. 

with compassion.

last surviving member

"You are the last surviving member of the human race.  What do you do?"

According to Jean, you just collapse from the reality of being forever alone.  Pfft.

Me? I'm going to go explore.  What is this catastrophe that has left me for sure the last of my kind.

I'm already the only one of my kind, Unique as are we all.  It ends with Me??   Well first of all, I'm now the prettiest woman on earth.  The cleverest, the fastest runner, the best in chess. It's an bit of a head rush to be last.  I outlived all my enemies too. How cool is that?

The computers survived.  I have a chess partner.   All the infrastructure is complete,  This dreadful epic fail has come and gone without trauma to me.  I have clear streets and no decaying bodies.

First I drop to my knees and clutch my stomach.  Half in relief of being spared and half in grief of losing my precious family.  and the whole human race.  Gone in a flash without a why or a good bye.

No closure, No sense,  Just the inexplicable massive loss of human life erased from the world like it never was here.

That is breathtaking but I eventually right myself and get busy with life.


The dogs aren't dead.  I pick myself out a trio.  Akita, Rottweiler and a hardy little Rat terrier that is in charge of them all.  We huddle together as a pack.

Rivers start to recover.  fish return to the Gulf and Atlantic.   Trees thrust up through the asphalt.  Silt covers the sidewalks and remain unswept away.  Weeds grow tall in lawns. 


The friendliest of golden lights comes down from the sky and keeps me company.  It's from my imagination, which has gone into overdrive.  Some days I don't move from the sitting place.  Others I run and run till I collapse in exhaustion.  Occasionally I enforce some moderation on myself, but mostly, I just live and think and plan out my day to survive.  I listen to music and I dance and I sing.    I raid stores and outfit myself outlandishly.  I liberate a fancy ass RV and roam around.   I get to the ocean and grab me one of those Ocean boats, It takes me a week to find one I can run on my own.  I get my maps out and head out for sea.  I'm gonna make it across this ocean and see the other part of the world.  I"m going down swinging.

I'm a survivor. always have been, always will be.

the story of ay

if you want perfect laryngeal placement for singing
sing ay or the italian form eh (which lacks the often treacherous diphthong)

ay causes a tilt of the larynx (voice box) forward and down
what a glorious little device
and a miracle.. for without a flexible trachea (wind pipe) this would be impossible

ay is a warm vowel.  open, deep, and resonant.  it is characterized by a relaxed jaw, and is slightly less focused than ee, simply because as the pillars relax inward the vocal cords relax apart and allow for the escape of air.  in fact, the further away from ee we go, within the pure vowel spectrum.. the more slack the cord becomes and the more air escapes into the sound. 
this is completely treatable. ;)


ay, like ee, is a wider vowel and only slightly narrower than ee
if you say ee and then say ay you will feel those pillars move inward
remember the pillars?
did you feel them?
ok try this exercise again..
sing eeeeeeee and then slide into ayyyyyyyyyy
now do it backward.. ayyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
did you move your lips? 
did your jaw move?
ok again.
no lips no jaw this time..
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
ayyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

lets play a little now.
remember no moving the jaw and no moving the lips..
sing ee and slide into ay..
but this time
when you sing ay THINK eeeeeee

what happened?
did the color of ay change?
did ay feel different than ee?

now sing ay and slide into ee..
but keep THINKING ayyyyy

what happened this time?
did the color of ee change?
did ee feel different than ay?

do not read on until you have tried this and thought about it!

ok carry on.
....................................................................................................

here's what you should have experienced.

when you sing eeeeeeayyyyyy and think only ee, the ay vowel should have sounded brighter and more pingy and focused like ee.. and it should have felt more like ee feels.

when you sing ayyyyyeeeeeeee and think only ay, the ee vowel should have a warmer more round sound like ay.. and it should feel more relaxed like ay feels.

banana chee

looking forward to some spicy thai food and banana chee for lunch..

as he headed out the door, the phone rang.
he never answers his phone. never.
but, for some reason, this time he picked up the phone..

hello

and what followed was a request. 

'may i bring Luke to lesson early tonight?'

i have a 5 or 5:30 open, which would you like?

and what followed was a moment which he would never forget all his life.

'Luke has suffered so much with all this death..  you, of course knew his father passed away last year.. and he just lost a friend from the hockey team in a car accident, and tomorrow is his birthday.  i let him go skiing today and told him we could go out for a nice birthday dinner.  i just wanted to share something with you..'

mhm.. mhm.. pause.. ok...

'ever since his father passed, i have tried to get Luke to go to therapy, but he wont.  then one day, he says to me, "mom.. i think i would like to sing."  and i thought, great.. another thing on my plate.  but then his cousin, Jessica, says "I know just the person.. I LOVE MY TEACHER!"  and so we signed up with you.  when my husband was sick, they brought in a music therapist.  my husband wanted Luke to sing for him.  i think it was too much for him.  i asked my father-in-law, who loves to sing, to come and sing too.. and Luke hesitantly joined.  i want you to know, i think you are Luke's therapy.  i want you to know that he loves his lessons with you, and he just loves you.  i hear him upstairs singing all the time.  he lights up when he talks about voice.  you have given him so much, without even knowing.  5:30 will be fine with us.'

..pause..  thank you so much for sharing this with me. i will see you at 5:30 then.

he sits. staring for a moment.  the dogs yapping and scraping outside at the back door.  tears.

i never knew.

"I found the strangest thing in my pocket."

Omg what is that?  It's the broken off key to something.  The key part is still there, but the head of the key is cracked off.   It won't fit on a key chain like that.   What the heck, what does it go to?

 It says Stan.. on it.   Perhaps it belonged to a guy?  There is a wooden box in the bottom of our closet behind the broken microscope and the 8x10 view camera suitcase.  I should dig it out and see if it works.

Cough, cough. It's dusty and rusty and splintery.  I think this box is old. The hinges are leather and the box  has hand chiseled dovetailed joints.

Yup, I need to put some graphite on this lock. It's a bit hard to turn.  Maybe that's how the head got broken off, someone without patience took a hard turn on it.

Dear Reader, you have just as much a clue as to what will be in the box as I do.  We will find out together.


Oh wow, Look at this.  It's sewing supplies and patterns from the 30's and 40's.  The old kind without any writing or directions on them.  Just mysterious dots perforated on the paper.  There is a set of old long bobbins that go to a singer treadle machine.  Look at this, A silver handled wooden sock darner.   A silver tailor's finger safe with no top to it. Do you know why it has no top,  The true tailors do not hand stitch with the tip of their fingers only the side of their fingers, the top would not be necessary, so they don't make them with tops on them.   Look at this, some vintage lace and crocheted collar premades.  They haven't been in style for decades.  What darling things.

A Stief Bear with handmade clothing wrapped up in a Velvet tiny cape.  Look at the small feather felt hat for her head, with ear cut outs on either side.  And a fur muff for her cape.


And lying in the bottom a large collection of vintage calico quilt pieces.  This looks like a starburst pattern that some ambitious needlewoman cut out and never pieced together.  The colors are bright as new being hid away from the sun all this time.

This quilt needs to be pieced together.



 

dust

I found the strangest thing in my pocket

funny thing is, i have no pockets in my boxerbriefs lol

yeah i am sitting here half-clothed..  so im looking frantically around for something to write about. what do i see, an unopened bag of werther's sugar free candies, my glasses which oli took a liking to one day, and noshed little chips in the corner of the lens, my dead tablet, Bessie, and pen.. rip.  headphones from when i used to talk with my sweetheart online, bills, a stack of books.. hm lets see.. i never put back a high wind in jamaica and the good earth.. along with the woman in white, old man and the sea, the great gatsby, babel tower, 100 crooked little crimes, and the space between us..  none of which fit in my pocket.  all of which are collecting dust.

dust.  i wipe my finger across the antique table, leaving a clean trail on the surface.. rub my fingers together and just sit looking at them.  heavy.  particles of sloughed off dead skin and stuff.  weightless and so fine.  dust.  is there any relevance to what im feeling today.. with dust?  if there is, i cant find it.

searches.

slough off the skin.  leave it as dust.. to be swept away. 

i note as i look around.. a lot of dust.  its fairly thick.  i have been lazy and i havent tended to my home..
im up to my shoulders in emotional dust.  i have been careless and i havent tended to myself.  i need to clean up my life.  its very dusty.

slough it off.  shake it.  wipe it.  get out some murphy's and get to work..

blows the dust from my fingers.. and watches it float, suspended mid-air and then disappear.

yep.

{[ Wt..f ]}

Waking up with hair a mess
Half..undressed.

Blue jeans wrinkled
vodka bottle laying sided half empty
cap no were to be seen.

Long streach and a yawn
hand rubbing thumping brain
Eyes wandering the room

Never seen this place..
"Were am I at..?'"

Large blanket lump on one side of bed
quick reaction wanting to run and hide
heart pounding

hand slips down in pocket
finding plastic ripped black wrapper

"God..what have I done.."