Love…it hurts     

It is not of sex

Nor softness of a love song

But of power raw

I saw a bird once

Dancing in the bright moon light

Once more, please, tonight  

My mother loved me

Then she died, and loves no more

How am I to grow?

The rose petal falls

A child bends to pick it up

Turns in joy and calls

Bitter taste of love

Consuming my sleepless nights

My heart in sour shreds  

Marry me, Oh kind sir

A nicer girl, no, not found

Tis I, your heart wants

The Noise Never Stops

The noise never stops

It radiates in our brain

In our ears and lungs

 

Think, say, do it now

Make your mark it’s not too late ~

And help the ‘Children’

 

Wipe out poverty

Follow the rules, make your own

Be a friend, be a wife

 

Create an Empire

But never brag about it

Watch your step, people see you

 

The noise never stops

Don’t do that, this is the way

That will never work

 

Bombs, gunfire, glass, blood

That will work, join the Chaos

The noise suffocates

 

And drowns out the birds

I can’t hear them, did they stop?

Are they singing ~ I can’t hear.

Bad BAD date!

I am not a teenager, young adult or even middle aged – I am an older woman, therefore, I date older men. 

Older men that, I presume, are somewhat worldly, have a little style, and are gentlemen.  

Well, forget that!

I have had some really, really bad dates – like one of those so-called gentlemen tried to play patty-cake on my bottom…….oh, first date - needless to say – on the only date. 

Bear with me, please, and let me take you through my all-time worse blind-date. I barely date and this little story will make it clear, why!!

Why would a man, who is meeting me for the first time, show up at an up-scale restaurant in a lavender short sleeve polo knit shirt and khakis? 

You can see where this will end badly……

I have been single for a very long time; my husband is deceased – a most charming, attracting, intelligent guy.  I am attractive, intelligent,  successful, dress well, and have a great sense of humor.

My friends very seldom ‘fix me up”, in fact, they just don’t, lamenting the fact that there isn’t anyone they know I would find interesting.

So, maybe it is my fault, but I don’t really believe that. Let me continue, you decide if you would ever take a second date with this guy.

Not my fault, the ‘gentleman’ in the lavender short sleeve polo shirt did not treat me to lunch, as in pay!

 After we finished lunch, we were chatting about a possible movie date the following week, when I noticed the check in the little fancy tray was still in front of him. In a few seconds he pulled out his credit card and just held it over the tray – hovering with it in mid-air.  

I finally said, ‘Would you like to split the check?’ He replied, ‘Okay.’

When that obscene bit of theatre was over, he had the nerve to continue discussing about next time. It gets better.

This super dork watched me as I got my valet ticket out with my $$$ tip in hand.

Oh BTW, I slept with a beautiful man because he took the ticket out of my hand, leaving me with the bills – he had already won my heart during dinner when he noticed my glass of white wine was not chilled anymore, but probably room temperature since I let it sit too long. He had just poured a fresh glass from the ice bucket for himself and promptly traded my glass for his – letting me enjoy the chilled wine.  Manners work with me every time.   

So…..with my ticket and $5. in hand, we walked to the front of the restaurant. As we got to the door before exiting to retrieve my car, he informed me with this (of course you did) bit of information.

‘I parked in the back.’  He said something about emailing me and off he went.

I had already formulated my ‘Dear John’ letter that I would send off immediately.

The usual: ‘It is not necessary to contact me……’

I have many pet peeves and one of my top 5 is the following:

Don’t come to the game if you’re not going to play.  

There’s always McDonalds -

 

 

Love ~ in all its ramifications

It is not of sex
Nor softness of a love song
But of power raw

I saw a bird once
Dancing in the bright moon light
Once more, please, tonight

My mother loved me
Then she died, and loves no more
How am I to grow?

The rose petal falls
A child bends to pick it up
Turns in joy and calls

Bitter taste of love
Consuming my sleepless nights
My heart in sour shreds

Marry me, kind sir
 A nicer girl, no, not found
Tis I, your heart wants

This I Believe ~~

My mother was a deeply religious woman, and never shied away from living and practicing the teachings of the church.

For instance, Mother thought it was a sin to gossip, and therefore, refrained from its dangerous pull completely. She believed by ‘doing the right thing’ her children would be protected from unfounded or hurtful gossip from others. She simply believed that.

 There were so many things she taught us. She embodied the essence of style and provided us with insight to the principals of a cultured life; manners, speaking well, art appreciation, reading, playing outside, singing together and practicing good posture.

There is one principal that has had a great influence on me, and has become a personal belief; it’s taken from a church teaching my mother followed religiously throughout her life, administering God’s Grace in times of illness, merely stated as   – ‘Visit The Sick”, which of course included, the old, the infirm and anyone alone.

Always on her missions she would take one of us along; there was never a discussion about what she was doing, we learned this principal by example - she would just gather up whichever one of us was around, and off we would go to see whomever was in need of company, food, or a helping hand.   

It is so ingrained in my sisters and brother that we just do it. Visiting the sick, the elderly and the infirm is a natural part of our life.

Another principal I learned from my mother: that of social behavior; the front runner of manners and social behavior is how we greet our fellow human beings. Simply recognizing one another as we pass through this tragic comedy of our lives, reassures all of  us we are not alone while traversing daily pitfalls,  disappointments and indeed our most joyous triumphs -  

I believe it is our duty, one to another, to acknowledge each person who crosses our path, be it a nod, a smile, a wave, and ‘Good Morning, Good Afternoon, Good Evening, powerful words, easily said, slide trippingly on the tongue.

Manners, behavior, deportment – Upon presenting my report-card to my mother, her eyes would pass over all the subjects, I was an A-B student, occasionally the dreaded C would appear, but the subject line for Deportment, as far as she was concerned, should always show an A.

Of course, we don’t grade manners anymore –I mentioned deportment recently in conversation, several adults were not familiar with the word; a pity certainly.                

 

 

 

 

David Bowie

A career marked by continual re-invention, musical innovation and I love him so much for his striking visual presence -  not to even mention his brilliant mind, and I quote:

"I'm looking for backing for an unauthorized autobiography that I'm writing. Hopefully, this will sell in such huge numbers that I will be able to sue myself for an extraordinary amount of money and finance the film version in which I will play everybody."

I'm Writing, I'm writing . . .

No I Am Not

All day yesterday to write, I have today free to write - Can't seem to put ANY thought or scrap of a sentence together.

I read Larry McMurtry's essay he published on storytelling for the Texas Classics literary series  where he talks about 'the woman' who as a young girl was swapped for 50 skunk hides - he saw her many times as he was growing up - his dad sometimes would give her a ride into town - she never spoke, never uttered a word, just stood by the side of the road until someone picked her up so she could do what ever she had to do in town; 'she lived to bear the trapper many children.'

The essay is full and rich in detail as he goes on to tell how his grandparents arrived in the vast open empty country to settle and populate the land with children that scattered far and wide. Rich rural stories, we have all read and loved, like ."Lonesome Dove" to name one of about 30 novels.  See what I mean - I know, give it up, Helen, take the high road - be honorable - just fall on your sword.

His '(My) grandparents were - - potent word - - pioneers.'

I see a glimmer of hope here - my grandparents and parents were pioneers of sorts. Traversing an ocean to reach the land of the free but instead of wagons to reach the far reaches of  Texas, my grandparents  traveled by train where factories were waiting for the men, land too, precious land that would take years of toil in those factories to purchase their prized pieces of of that rick black loam, because like the McMurtrys  - land, owning it - made them  free, not beholden to any other man.

My grandfather and father were business partners, the women were rulers of the house - my mother, was exceptionally beautiful, so young, raised by the nuns in Italy, knew only books, music and fancy needle work. My grandmother, her mother-in-law knew only hard work, raised to take care of the men and children,  to cook, clean, tend the fruit and vegetable gardens. The women raised in to two different worlds, one of privilege and one of laborers.

My mother was beautiful, my father was handsome. My grandparents were the rock and foundation of our lives . . .

(I won't fall on my sword today)



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