I’m Back (Did you Miss Me?)

I’m working on my life story.  My New Year’s resolution for 2016 is to finish it this year by writing every day.  With today’s input I’m at 46,946 words.  I didn’t know I had so much to say.  Yet I’ve known so many fascinating people in my life who became part of my own story that our combined memories clamor to be told.  


Gypsies on the Mountain

Mama and I sit on the front porch in the growing dark, watching a string of lights move along the side of the mountain.  I ask her what they are.  “It’s the Gypsies,” she says, “they always come back this time of year.”

“Where do they go off to?”

Mama tilts her head and pauses for a moment. “Someplace on the other side of the mountain, I reckon.”

A storybook picture fills my mind, of a tall covered wagon with pots and pans banging against its sides, drawn by large dark horses and led by dark-skin people in brightly colored clothes, barefoot children with tangled hair dancing along behind.

I see myself, one of those dark-skinned children, not the coming but the going, to that mysterious place on the other side of the mountain, in a Gypsy caravan with twinkling lights.  I wonder if I am really a Gypsy child.

“Why do they come back,” I say.

“Why, to steal our eggs.”

Did they leave me here?  I wonder.  Maybe they traded me for the eggs.

The house is small and dark; we go to bed early to make the lamp oil last longer.

Lying beside Mama in the growing dark I force my eyes to stay open to keep away the monsters that hover in the darkest corner of the room, waiting for me to go to sleep.  When they will invade my dreams and chase me through the terrifying night …..


The Changing Tide

I haven’t had the heart to announce on this blog that my darling little Winston passed away in April. He was twelve and a half years old and had developed diabetes, type one, of course. Insulin shots could possibly have prolonged his life for awhile but he was terrified of needles and there was no way I could administer them. His passing left such a hole in my heart that I relented in June and found a Bichon puppy to love. I thank God for the years I had my sweet Winston. I will always miss him.

I’ve also made a decision to begin an astrology service and put all those years of study and experimentation to use. I’ve come to feel I may finally have something to contribute during this time of earthly turmoil. We shall see. I will soon begin my new blog, Astrology Revolution. My fiction writing has been stuck in limbo for some time so I’m leaving it here for now to see if it speaks to me again.

Waiting for Uranus

Did you know there’s a place in the back of your mind
That’s gathering dust?
A place where you’ve stored things
Over the years
Just for awhile, you said
Until you have more time
Until you have more money
Until, until….
Sometimes a small beam of light flickers from this dark place
In the back of your mind
And you wonder, briefly, what it was
But then it goes out and you forget to wonder….
They still wait there, you know, beneath the dust on the shelf in the dark place in the back of your mind
For something
To trigger your memory
And bring back your future

The Chicken or the Egg?

As far as I know the question of which came first has never been decided, but I’ll vote for the chicken who laid the first egg. Imagine her shock when, exhausted, she rested upon the mysterious result of her labor. Perhaps she waited, curious as to what would happen next.

Warmth, a mysterious movement. The thing beneath her cracked! The chicken rose to see a tiny being emerge. Cheep Cheep! And she was never the same after that. She paraded around the barnyard, the tiny thing wobbling after her. They passed the rooster, who crowed. The chicken ignored the arrogant fellow. And then briefly wondered why he was passing out cigars.

The End

Sorry, but I couldn’t resist posting this. I ran across it in some of my old writings and it made me laugh so I thought maybe it would make you laugh too.

A Ghost Story

Have you noticed all those ghosts walking around? They used to be mothers, full of life, full of warm, nurturing love. Babies snuggled up in the curve of their necks, their soft sweet skin smelling of Johnson’s baby powder. The babies grew and grew and learned to walk and talk and make their mommas proud when they said her name. As they began to explore, they outgrew their infant needs, becoming self-propelled. They began to learn grownup things. Like who to love and who to hate and some even learnt who to blame when things go wrong. Be it their teachers, the government or their mothers.

They used to be ordinary people like you and me before the miracle of motherhood changed them into bright shooting stars that lit the heavens with happiness for an all-too-brief moment that continues to warm their memory as they grow old.

Have you noticed all those ghosts walking around? The ones with their failing eyesight and tender smiles who fade into the background, soft-spoken and undemanding? They had their moment in the Sun and are content to watch the seasons change and the years fly by.

I hate to say it but they are not me.

Oh, how I loved my time of shooting stars, yet I refuse to be a ghost.

The Truth That Sets me Free

I have no dog in this fight. After two marriages I’ve learned marriage is not for me. I’m much happier being single. Not that I didn’t give each marriage a good go, fifteen years for the first, seventeen for the second. And I truly loved each of my husbands. Until I didn’t love them anymore. We do not need to go into the reasons why, but there you have it.

But I still love my children– from the first marriage– and always will. I thank God for blessing me with them. I’m on the outs with two of my three daughters. But that’s another story. They are old enough (one just turned 52, the other is almost 49) to know if they still want me in their lives or not. Apparently not. And that’s okay because I believe everyone should have free choice, especially about how they live their life, and who they live it with, or without.

Which brings me back to the reason for this post. I believe in love, freely given, never coerced or denied, between consenting adults. And if they want to bind themselves together with marriage, so be it, and if they want to break the bonds of marriage they have that right too. There are too many laws about things the government has no business in and I believe those laws should be abolished.

We’ve come a long way in the past fifty-two years since my first child was born. I was a young 21-year-old who moved to a strange city, got involved with a married man and was pregnant. At that time unwed mothers were looked down on by society (my, how things have changed!) so I had to choose between disgracing myself and my family or accepting marriage with a stranger (who offered) or having an abortion. I did the “right thing” and accepted marriage to a friend of my child’s father rather than have the abortion. I had three more wonderful children and have never, ever regreted my decision

However, my eldest child became an unmangeable 14-year-old, provoking my husband to tell her the truth about her birth (he had always refused to allow me to tell her). He told her in the worst way. Later he and I were divorced, the daughter became pregnant at fifteen and had an abortion. Later she married and had five children. She also joined the Catholic Church and became a right-to-lifer, ready to do battle with the pro-choice people, citing 50 million murders to our credit. Yes, I believe in freedom of choice, and support Roe Vs. Wade.

Her interpretation of my pro-choice stand was that I “wished I’d aborted her” which was completely untrue. I told her often how much I loved her and how glad I was that I’d had her. But now she has a story to tell and I’m sure she’s spreading it far. “I was almost aborted!” “I’m a survivor”. She’s a heroine and I am the evil person who “wanted” to kill her.


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