Blog Manifesto

Blog Manifesto


This blog is dedicated, as the title would suggest, to the qualities of being young. We are young writers. We are playful and sensitive, fluid and changing. We are unashamed with our art. We wonder at the world, puzzle over the meanings of things and twirl in delight at images and ideas that float by, grabbing at them as they pass. We are curious and constantly inquiring and prying concepts open and taking assumptions apart. We are on the ground, close to the earth. We have bare feet and wiggle our toes into nature. We carry our blankies still and wrap up cozy and comfy with each other and tell ghost stories and shiver at creepy things. We laugh and we cry and we take a lot of naps, drained from our outings and exertions.

We write as gifts to each other, tying them up in ribbon and leaving them around for each other to find, hiding and waiting for the person to wake up and read. Surprise! We weave our stories together to create a bond. One writes, then the other. then another again. We have a shared reality that we have crafted, bit by piece by patch, by string. We write simple, honest authentic things, with our unique voices. You can tell each one of us from the other, without knowing who wrote what. Our voices are clear and gentle and original. We whisper and our personalities roar! Like children, our feelings are strong, our passion for what we write shakes us. We are moved and sometimes left breathless, by our own words or the words of each other. We cannonball into each others spaces. We fall backward into each others writing, like into a pile of leaves or a soft bed. We gobble and grin and ask for more. (footnote kudos to JC)

Then we go to bed, wake up to a new day and do it all over again!

Sunday, March 18, 2012

my dad

my dad is depressed.
has been for 10 years as of April 16th
the day before his birthday

he will be 67

we talk every thursday night
usually for an hour or so

i dread winter
he hits his lowest when it's dreary and cold
the phone calls are difficult

lately they have become worrisome
and short
and last week he didn't call
and i got busy with life stuff
and his bad son just didn't call him..
and this week i went on a date
and checked my phone..
he never called.

for two years after my ma died
i spoke every day with him on the phone
it took a toll on me
but he never went to grief counseling
he refused
he never talked to anyone
but me
..and jenny

over time the calls became less frequent
and now, it's once a week

the weather has been fantastic
and unseasonably warm in the midwest
the sun is shining
and
i sent him a bundle of stories to read..
with a message

Dear Dad,
    Early Birthday present.. since you don't celebrate.
These essays are just the beginning of a thank you.  A thank you for the love of words you instilled in me from a very young age.  You and Ma gave me a love of music.. and so I am a musician.  All those Scrabble games stuck with me.  And so now, I write.  You gave me so much Dad. 

Thanks Dad.. I love you, man
Wen

tonight he called while i was in the middle of a game with Rosie and Reese.  i rushed to the phone.  i thought something was wrong.

There was a smile in his voice when he said, 'Thank you, son.'
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2 comments:

  1. reeseMarch 18, 2012 at 11:07 PM

    Oh JC...
    What a beautiful writing!
    You just gave your dad the most precious gift... JC's essays... and he in return gave you the words that will be a cherished memory for life...'Thank you, son.'

    ReplyDelete
  2. SharonMarch 18, 2012 at 11:23 PM

    You're so lucky to have the gift of writing and the realization of how precious it is. And the ability to give it away to those in need. Thank you JC.

    ReplyDelete

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