Dribbles and Momentos

I’m writing stream of consciousness to keep my blogging energy alive.

This Friday the 13th has been windy, eerie, howling and haunting, like the song “Ill Wind.”  I can’t stop thinking about Syria and the horrors of war juxtaposed to the constant dribble (or should I say drip, drip, drip) of some asinine details of the US president’s sex life. People are salivating in anticipation of former FBI director Comey’s book, one I would re-title  A Higher “Royalty,” pun intended. But hey, freedom of the press and freedom of profits and all that. Who am I to judge? I’m just a lowly home-maker/artist/scribbler gone wild.

Mad housewife pitch: Bully politician fires tall FBI career guy who doesn’t protect efficient career woman on verge of becoming first female president after being proven innocent of scandal. Career guy dishes dirt on politician.

So this new memoir promises to divulge juicy facts that we’re tired of but can’t turn away from, after inundation with compassion fatigue for everything. High school students, staff, and families with PTSD from school shootings, unarmed black youth shot to death on camera at the rate of dozens per week or something like it. Food stamps cut. Elderly in assisted living rents raised $150 per month. Teachers on strike, that sort of thing.

Yet, back to the memoir: many of us still shaking our heads about why Comey seems to sabotage Hillary Clinton right before the election. It looks like men just can’t stand to think that women are capable of leading. They are so insecure about their manhood. Or their lack of melanin? What is it? That’s about to change, fellas. What has really happened is that when you mess up, we take over. Nothing personal, but have you forgotten Mother Nature always bats last? Or has the last word? Or, hell hath no fury like a woman denied her paycheck, her right to vote, and control over her own body.

Sheesh. I wasn’t going to go into a political tirade. Maybe I need to let go and just be myself. Yes. That will work. Because there are plenty like me and we vote.

Spring is here, except in North Dakota. The hum of cheering crowds at baseball games become a vapid lullaby for our national sign-carrying distress.

The only respite to the backdrop of war anxiety and talk of chemical weapons is remembering the glow of hope that some super hero can deliver. Scanned scenes of babies brought to you by major news corporations vying for power overwhelms the senses. It’s all too much, it’s all too flipping efficient, like a self- driving car crashing into someone out for an evening stroll. Cut. Oh well. Move on to the next story.

So the past few weeks have whizzed by like a flash of lightning. Some of our dearest relatives came to visit so I put aside current projects for a moment. For whatever it’s worth, dear readers, if you are a diarist or note-taker, be proud. In the age of Instagram and sell-your-private-info-for megabucks social media, a hand written story or messy paragraph on a scratch pad might be a treasure someone will cherish after you are long gone. Heck, your notes might even have historical relevance or be romantic inspirations.

I have mementos that mean more to me than my car. Well, not quite, but almost. I have my grandfather’s treatment plans for his patients, my other grandfather’s post cards to my mother. I have poems I wrote as a five year old. Recipes found tucked inside a library discard book that may have been untouched for years.

 

physician treatment plan for arthritis circa 1922

 

That’s all I have right now.  It’s a diversion from what I’d planned to share but that’s the life of journal-writer.  It’s all beyond my control and as you know, moms and grandmas are often accused of being control freaks. 🙂

Next time I will get to the stories.

Journal prompt: Write whatever is on the top of your head or coming out your ears. Be as dry, sarcastic or as moody as you want.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Women Who Run with Words

It’s another heavy…

Hey Readers, I have to confess my thoughts and feelings have been numb since the Valentine’s Day tragedy in Florida. I’m angry right along with victims’ families who are opposed to assault weapons.  The news floored me.  A weird panic came over me when I realized that these gruesome events were starting to run together in my mind and I worried that I would forget them, as if I had a duty to to take care of it all, as if I had a responsibility to be of comfort for all the families. I do, we do. This is our world. I stopped writing anything substantial beyond my daily journal, didn’t draw much either. I wept. Taking walks helped the tension but I was still glued to the news. The same old watered down statements  emanated from politicians and news anchors like a bad dream. In the wake of #metoo and #NotOneMore the finality of the event culminated in the devastating photograph of the 7000 pairs of shoes on the Capitol lawn.

March 8th was International Women’s Day and March is Women’s History Month here in the US. I decided to choose quotes by some women who are, or have been, trailblazers. I should have included some comedy but I’m not there yet. How many times can we wring our hands and say we’ve got to do better?

It’s timely that the movie Black Panther  and A Wrinkle in Time have ignited theatres with women and girls in powerful leadership roles. Congratulations!

Below are some of the women among so many, who come to mind when I sat down to write today.

 The first is Sybrina Fulton, who was thrust into leadership role on a national level because of gun violence. Her youngest son, 17-year-old Trayvon Martin, was murdered in 2012 while walking home from a local store. He had not committed a crime. He had gone out to buy  some candy. That’s it. He was a black youth wearing a hoodie at night.

His mother said in 2015 on CNN, “It seems our kids are getting younger and younger, they’re killing them younger and younger. There is no regard anymore for human life. There has to be somewhere where we draw the line and say, ‘Listen, our kids want to grow up, too.'”

Huge debates ignited over race, vigilante mentality and gun ownership.  Women of color and their supporters were horrified, worried about their sons and daughters dying on the streets. We agreed that racism is still a pervasive disease in modern American life.

Ask a mother like Sybrina Fulton (and the mothers of Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice and others)  and she will tell you the raw truth: “I think absolutely my son’s race and the color of his skin had a lot to do with why he was shot and killed, in all of these cases, these victims were unarmed. These victims were African-American. That needs to be our conversation.”
– Sybrina Fulton

Let’s not mince words. You can help by the cause buying their book.

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

Here are some other quotes to consider. Do you know who said the following?

“Do the best you can in every task, no matter how unimportant it may seem at the time. No one learns more about a problem than the person at the bottom.”

“The power I exert on the court depends on the power of my arguments, not on my gender.” –  Sandra Day O’Connor, the first female Supreme Court judge.

Here’s another Supreme Court justice, Ruth Bader Ginsburg who just celebrated a birthday.

“It is not women’s liberation, it is women’s and men’s liberation.”

“Anybody who has been discriminated, who comes from a group that’s been discriminated against, knows what it’s like.”

    Louise Nevelson, sculptor
“I only know this – that you can’t give advice to an artist. “

Susan B Anthony  women’s rights activist:

“Men, their rights, and nothing more; women, their rights, and nothing less.

“I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do, because I notice it always coincides with their own desires.”

“I declare to you that woman must not depend upon the protection of man, but must be taught to protect herself, and there I take my stand.”

This post wouldn’t be complete without the  introduction Deb Haaland, the first Native American woman to run for Congress.  Get out and vote!

Winona LaDuke, activist:

“The first thing I am is a person. I am a woman. And I am part of a nation, the Indian nation. But people either relate to you as an Indian or as a woman. They relate to you as a category. A lot of people don’t realize that I am not that different from everyone else. “

“Tribes have the potential to provide almost 15 percent of the country’s electricity with wind power, and have 4.5 times the solar resources to power the entire U.S.”

Marjory Stoneman Douglas, namesake of the high school in Florida where the Valentine’s Day killings happened, was an eco-activist and is included in this link. 

 “You have to stand up for some things in this world.” She was a lover of the Everglades and a warrioress for ecological concerns. “You can’t conserve what you don’t have.”

I’m stricken by the irony of her words.

Octavia Spencer, actress:

“You cannot live to please everyone else. You have to edify, educate and fulfill your own dreams and destiny, and hope that whatever your art is that you’re putting out there, if it’s received, great, I respect you for receiving it. If it’s not received, great, I respect you for not.”

While we’re honoring women I want to say a prayer for Brazilian activist, Marielle Franco  killed recently, most likely for her passionate work for human rights. One of her causes was advocating for brightly lit bus stops so that women could be safe at night.

I have to end my tribute with a shout out to on of my favorite artists, Marilyn Church. Check out The Art of Justice, an Eyewitness View of Thirty Infamous Trials. She writes, “sometimes a good drawing can tell more than a photograph-.” I want to draw that well.

There are countless women I admire from cultures that stimulate a desire to learn.  Diversity has been my passion since childhood.

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Coming up: A tribute to Kasturba Gandhi, Mahatma Gandhi’s beloved wife. I’ll be doing an interview with her grandson, Arun. You can find my first interview with him here.

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Journal prompt: 1) write about a woman who inspires you. Pick out a few adjectives to describe her. 2) If you are a woman, write a tribute to yourself. What are the accomplishments that make you most proud?

Discussion: how do you view the role of women in society? Are you traditional or do you relate to feminists? Do you think gender matters when it comes to leadership and power?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writing Fiction Cures Memoir Blues

 

 

In fiction, anything goes because you make stuff up and nobody knows if you’re bending the truth-kind of like some major players in US politics. Sorry, couldn’t resist.

I decided to take the Nanowrimo challenge in November and produced well over 60, 000 words in a flurry of writing.  I didn’t do the posting or participate in the website boards.  Putting my work out there wasn’t my goal because I wanted to play my cards close to the vest; the writing itself was my prize. I am working on publishing it possibly as an ebook. Writing a novel was not something I planned to do and to my own surprise I really busted through the setbacks I’d been experiencing.

Here is what I learned in my writing my first novel:

• I can do it! I enjoy writing fiction
• Writing fiction frees up creative juices because you’re not worried about facts
• Writers can use their memoir stories for ideas
• Taking on a month-long challenge works for motivation

I  loosely based my novel on my memoir and found that I was able to explore and write about themes that had plagued me for years. Issues, conflicts, tension, and resolution were tackled much more easily in fiction because I wasn’t tethered to exact details. I was more pleased at the end of the day with my work than I had been for all these years slogging through my (unfinished) memoir. The fiction writing was an amazing antidote for memoir blockage! Smooth moves. 🙂

Because I wanted to have my memoir as factual as possible the need to be completely truthful slowed me down and then stopped me. I got bogged down in details and  worrying about offending people. Perfectionism stinks sometimes.  However, I’m back into the writing of my personal story again with less worry-sort of. Now I’m becoming a complete snob in order to finish both works.

 

Journal prompt: take a day or a few weeks/months and write a story from start to finish. It can be as short as a few pages. Maybe you’ll find that this assignment leads you to do more writing and to challenge yourself. Pick one theme or issue from your own life and incorporate it into your story. Write freely. Be as bold and daring or as dry and technical as you want. Don’t edit your rough draft.

Discussion: what did you discover? Did you enjoy writing a story? What issues did you uncover or discover anew? How did your body react (if at all) to writing fiction?

 

 

The Horns of Hell

The braying coward in the room
reminds our dreaming hearts
to continue
following the Golden Rule —
to do unto others that which you would have done unto you

or at least to make the attempt
to look as if you’d paid attention
during that first decade of your own early existence
when
blackboards
and chalk
and rulers
ruled.
Yet apparently the memo
never appeared in the DNA
of such a barnacled baby branded by the horns of hell.

The indigenous grandfather, the shepherd, would say to his fold
his flock
the watchful courageous children
quiet now, young ones. Be still,
stop talking so much
keep your hands to yourself.
Don’t be a braggart
watch out for grandiosity and boasting;
the grandfather, the father, his hands ever-warm

tended to by his long-loving

tawny wife
steadfast, kind, capable of moving mountains
with her keen eyes…
a heart, a fortress
as mighty as the tides

and
as delicate and tenuous as a curled fern.

It is the space inside the
last page of the story
beyond needless words
that holds the children

eager for the sight of their kindred souls,

the scented earthy

sheltering arms
protecting them
from the foul-mouthed monster
born out of the fearful horns of hell.

The Day the Universe Dumped Me on My Head aka Vulnerability

A little over a month ago I was getting into the holiday spirit. On Wednesday, December 6^th, I decided mid-morning to put up some lights in the lovely palo verde tree in the front yard. Without telling the hubs or asking him to spot me, I dragged the big extension ladder out to the front and set it up underneath the tree. In my poor preparation, I set the ladder up wrong, focusing instead on how gorgeous the solar lights would look wrapped around the tree limbs. My cursory push down onto the base rung of the ladder was totally inadequate. The ground was soft but I ignored it in my pre-holiday enthusiasm. I’d done the job dozens of times.

 

Back to the story. I climbed up about seven feet on the ladder and began reaching over to a limb on my left with my arms full of Christmas lights.

The rest is a complete blank.

I don’t remember anything at all after that. I don’t remember falling. I don’t remember my dear Jesse finding me on the ground, insisting that I needed to go to the ER. I don’t remember arguing with him that I needed to make sure I had on clean underwear (I was a child of the ‘50’s when mothers told their daughters to make sure their undergarments were clean in case they got hit by a bus). I don’t remember demanding that he call my regular doctor which didn’t make any sense except I wanted to be in charge.  My loving partner is used to my being demanding at times, but it was bizarre that I can’t actually recall being so terribly bossy in my altered state.  I don’t remember being covered with dust and debris or my husband using the WaterPik  to clean the dirt out of my mouth and gently wiping the earth out of my nose. I don’t remember his insisting that I needed to go to the hospital, then helping me getting into our old SUV, then his driving me to the clinic.

It was only later that he told me he was worried that he would have to call 911 because of my odd belligerence.

I started to become aware of my surroundings as I sat in a wheelchair clutching my purse (another 50’s habit) when the staff at the first clinic we went to realized that I’d lost consciousness from the fall, and so we’d have to go on ahead to the ER.

I do remember people in an exam room asking me who was the president of the United States. I made a screwy face and answered correctly. My expression made them all laugh. They put one of those terrible collars around my neck in order to stabilize me, gave me some strong medication. I went into that dull state of being, now completely aware that I’d broken my shoulder. The collar was ill-fitting and stiff, I was warned not to pull on it. Later on, I was wheeled down the hall and admitted to the hospital for my fractured arm. In the hallway, one of the nurses told another to remove the restraining strap from my gurney. I guess I was in a place where people were often brought in with behavior problems, impairment or even trouble with the law.  Egads.

I ended up being diagnosed with a multiple closed fractures in my left humerus. I had broken my left shoulder head in three parts and they were checking to make sure I didn’t have an internal bleed in my belly. According to the subsequent tests they did on me I had not suffered a concussion, stroke, or heart attack. There was no brain damage, only my bruises and wounded ego over such an expensive mistake.

Everyone in the medical field told me it could have been worse. My friends in the medical field all said the same thing. The dear hubby keeps telling me that. Could have been much worse. Now I am starting to believe them.

Long story short-the universe dumped me on my head that day. It was a total cosmic wake up call of paramount importance second only to one or two other life changing whacks I’ve experienced. The old zen parable of “attention!” comes to mind.

I’m recovering well and ready for physical therapy to start up. When all this happened I was working on my novel, a sideline journey using parts of my still unfinished memoir. I’d just started working with a new writing group, new friends I’m cherishing for their ability to withstand their own challenges while sharing stories together.

So on December 6^th, I began my four -day journey in the hospital. And I began a new lesson in vulnerability in a way I’d never experienced before. My first nurse was a young good-looking man with four kids. I had to use a bed pan in front of a man I didn’t know. I had to be lifted by people I didn’t know. Apparently I was apologizing for the weight I needed to lose. I mean, talk about being vulnerable. I was worried about my breath smelling bad. What woman isn’t vain to some extent? Grateful for the female nurses who later were assigned to me, I love each and every one of them like sisters now.

I don’t like vulnerability.  Yet at the same time, having no control and relying on others forces you into compassion. You become compliant or sweet or you become a jerk. I try to be the former. It is a state of being re-introduced to the goodness, kindness, and relying on the professionalism of others and is a strong reminder of all the qualified people out there in the world. God bless them. I miss the doctors, nurses and staff who tended to me and looked after me. They are all angels and I was honored to meet them. It was not exactly the way I wanted to meet new people, but hey. These things happen.

 

Vulnerability is described as “the quality of state of being exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally.” Nobody needs to hear about how getting older or suffering from a disability makes us feel especially tender or vulnerable.

Just by following the national politics, most of “us” are reminded daily of a certain vulnerability because of the bully-buffoon in the White House. Those of us who find each other, regardless of whether or not we agree on politics, share our stories of life and death and everything in-between.

With my adorable husband helping me and with the support of friends and family, there is always a way to adjust to not having use of one’s full potential. There are times when I want to feel sorry for myself, but I won’t let it come in full force.

I will share more of my broken shoulder story later on.

Writing prompt: write about feeling vulnerable. When in your life have you felt, or do you feel, the most vulnerable? What images come to your mind? Use descriptions. What helped you get through those times? If you are going through them now, what tools are you using? How does journaling writing, or creativity help?

 

portrait of the writer after 30,000 words on working novel

 

What People Say: Dealing with Word Wounds and How to Heal

 

Oh the things people say: “You’re good with the customers but you’re not management material.”

Why do some people react to hurtful comments while others seem to have a thicker skin? The only reason for approaching the topic in writing is that I used to be one of those sensitive types. I learned through needless suffering to deflect the jabs by setting boundaries and kicking out the insult-bearing squatters from my head. Writing a memoir or life story does bring up some of those nasty memories.

The opening scene in the rough draft of my memoir is a one-line zinger that somebody slapped on me at a family function. I got zapped. Verbally tasered. I fired back with what I thought was a classy response. The offender and I never talked about it.

Put-downs, maligning and one-upping happens to everybody. What years of being a parent, grandparent, wife, sister, and friend has taught me is that others have similar experiences. Everyone is sensitive in varying degrees, and that being a “sensitive” is actually a skill. When I earned my degree in psychology and participated in years of workshops, what I learned is that if I don’t get a handle on reacting to people who bully, I risk becoming bitter and resentful.

Writing is a good way to deal with the hurts and move on from the jabs and insults.

While I wrote jokingly in one of my blogs about men being Neanderthals, it is women, it seems, who have a special talent for murderous competition designed to make another woman want to quit. For those of you who have been the recipient of digs and jabs, please take heart and learn to fight back or move on. You’re worth it. I know, because I’ve been there. Sometimes we’re the ones who do the zapping. Everybody I know, male, female, gay, trans…whomever…has stories about the war of words.

Here are a few one-liners I’ve experienced in my life. Some are light-hearted. Some were turning points/wounds that required spiritual counseling and even regular counseling so I could heal. They might not make sense or seem that intense, but as each writer knows, words shape our stories.

Childhood:

What happened to you? Did you get sunburned through a screen?

“There’s a man down in those trees. He’s going to come and get you.”

Don’t worry, they’ll grow.

What are you doing here, jackass?

Why don’t you want to play doctor with me? Don’t be scared.

Jobs-co-workers

Who made the coffee this morning? It’s too weak.

Who made these rubber band eggs?

Who scheduled this appointment?

What about your age?

Is this the new help? (that would be me)

 Relationships/Life situations

 You’re really filling up those pants.

You act like you’re single.

You don’t care about me.

You don’t love me.

When did YOU ever grow up?

You have private property hang-ups.

You think you’re so smart. That job just landed in your lap.

You have a repressed mouth.

Why don’t you go back to Europe where you came from?

You don’t understand simple things. You have ownership issues.

Don’t do this because you’re humiliated.

We’re going to teach you a lesson.

Well I hope you learned your lesson.

You’re a two-faced elitist.

You need help.

That’s why Susan is so screwed up.

You can’t even put a lid on a jar right. What’s wrong with you?

 (Thank you Jesus, I never broke anyone’s face. I would come home from working all day and have to make dinner while my kid’s father had been home. Then he would get on my case after I’d make a cup of tea for myself to get through the meal-making).

I’ve had guests come to my house, eat the meals I prepared for them, enjoy the bedroom I fixed up for them only to have someone say, “You make me tired. Can’t you just relax?”

Boundaries!

Yes of course there are more one-liners to add to the repertoire. But I’ve done my ceremonies. Writers  & journal keepers can use the words/scenarios to add to novels, memoirs, and interweave them into their characters’ lives. Don’t forget the positives!

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Journal prompt: Do you remember things that people have said to you that hurt? Do comments people have made stay with you for life? Write them down. Later go back and write a brief explanations after each comment. This is for you only for right now.

If you decide you want to elaborate, go back and write the emotion or feelings that you experienced after the words were spoken.

Discussion: Experts have found that the act of writing affirmations and positive summaries has a powerful affect on our health. Do the exercise again and use nice things that people have said to you. Notice if there is a difference in the way you feel. Compliment yourself in your journal often.

Also, one way to deal with hurtful words is to take the list and have a releasing ceremony. Put the written words in a fire and burn them. Say “I now release all this hurt forever.” Another way is to make a paper boat and write some of the terms or words that have wounded you and put it in a moving body of water. (please be eco-conscious).

Put your list through a shredder.

You can do a freezing ceremony to get rid of your words-spoken list. Put the list of wounds in a bag and freeze it. Later on when you are ready, in a couple hours, days, months, dump your list in the garbage or compost pile if you have a garden. Another way is to paint on biodegradable materials and bury the issues in the earth. Or make art. Do a collage or sand tray exercise and work with those hurts. But at the end, it’s imperative to be positive. Make up your own ways to put the issues out of your psyche and your world.

Happy writing, everybody. Cheers!

 

 

Whacked Out News vs Hope for the Future

Hello Kindred Writers and Readers,

I haven’t been on WordPress since August but I’ve been journaling and slowly working on my memoir manuscript. I’m not giving up. It doesn’t matter to me anymore how long it takes.

As I scan over my blog I’m tempted to toss out writing and stick to art and poetry. Then I remember a few words from various teachers and authors, especially Arun Gandhi who worked on one of his books for many years and when it emerged, the final product was a children’s book.

Then I check out all the incredible, talented, and hopeful young people in the world. I can’t give up on hope when I think about people such as those involved with DACA, education, women’s rights, civil rights,  along with so many un-named s/heros who wake up every morning to remind us to have courage.

I’ve about had it with adults, especially politicians who act worse than spoiled children. Since I last made a blog entry, we’ve seen the horror of hateful and fearful lost souls (KKK)  marching in Charlottesville, juxtaposed to kind, loving and inclusive gathering of people opposing the ignorance. What a tragic event.

Then came Hurricane Harvey, a natural disaster most surely caused in part by factors of global warming from man-made pollution. The fact that our president, ( I call him Humpty), thinks he can boast and buy his way through office and railroad legal experts, is absurd. He alone, is responsible for setting the tone and pace for critical dialogue  as the leader of the free world. Wake me up from this nightmare. Yet he remains a dangerous buffoon. He claims to know more than the generals? Ok. Good luck with that one. My response: Amendment 25.

We are allowed, according to the First Amendment to write and say what we want in the US. I’m beyond disbelief anymore. I find relief in political cartoons, especially Steve Sacks  who just published his first book. I may publish some of my rudimentary cartoons this year. Here’s another link.

So, I write about death often it seems. Not that I’m trying to be morbid or depressing. Quite the opposite. Death is like love. It hurts when we are in it because of fear of losing. Yet, the big L word is uniquely about freedom and not controlling others. Much of what I’m exploring in my own life story has to do with relationships and the challenge of being “good enough.” Isn’t that nutty?

The power of love and death is undeniable. People spend their lives trying to control anything or anyone around them in search of the race against time. Then, by the time you get old enough, if you’re lucky, you realize that none of crap you fought against in the self image category is important. People may like you, hate you, or whatever. No matter you do, they will talk about you, and for the most part, people don’t care that much. The hubs and I will both attest to the fact.

I’ve been through all the fads of spirituality on the market, only to come to the conclusion that most of feel good pablum IS a market, with branding, advertising and the whole mess.

Back to the drawing board.

I hope to have something more entertaining for my next post. Rusty, dusty.

Meanwhile, I’m happy to post that our granddaughter who has cystic fibrosis is doing very well. She’s in middle school now. Thank goodness and God (I’m a believer) for medical staff, doctors, nurses, administration, and volunteers who give hope and courage for anyone dealing with a disease. When you or a loved one has a challenge, no matter how cliche it sounds, not one second, not one minute of their lives is taken for granted.

Journal prompt: How do you see the world right now? Are you concerned? Bored? Angry? Happy? Numb? Describe your feelings about your environment. Do you sense that things are improving in your life or not? What do you dream about accomplishing?

Love and light to all.

Below: original art circa 1972, charcoal drawing, “Claude”

Neanderthals

 

It was fun when you were alive

and we would laugh together

about men being Neanderthals.

You should see what is going on now.

Well, of course you see it from your view

on the other side.

You do send signals- when light flickers off a hummingbird’s buzzing green wings

just as I lift my head to glance out the window.

And on my recent solitary sojourn to a place

you would surely have adored,

did you feel the intense vastness of mystic water underneath the orange heat?

I did see your reflection in the dolphin’s soft splash amidst a deepening evening at the canal

and with a quickening, a pang, I thought about uncertainty, the irony of

our private language.

And I only wept once at the thought that both of you had gone

home to the angels.

Even the dogs died that year. I was out of my mind over the cold abruptness of it all.

I winced at what most certainly was the dark secret you hinted at,

but I was too much of a cave girl to understand.

 

Journal prompt: write about losing a friend or relative to death. How do you, as a journal keeper, deal with death and dying? What images come to mind when you think of your loved ones who have crossed over.

This poem is in honor of my BFF (and her husband) who died in 1998.

 

 

 

 

 

Happy New Year No Fear

Once again I must apologize to my poor neglected bloggie. It’s been two months since I last posted. Sounds like a 12 Step meeting, doesn’t it?  My name is Sue and I am an artist-writer-psychic intuitive-blogger and all around passive-aggressive rabble-rouser who enjoys retreating. 🙂

No need to recap the ridiculous drama of recent elections in the US. I’m so sorry that we have to deal with more corruption and slanderous whackadoodle energy out there. It’s totally forked up but as a spiritual type writer, my focus is on continuing to TRY and walk the talk and conquer my challenges. “Feel the fear and do it anyway.” – Susan Jeffers

So dear kindred spirits and fellow bloggers, it’s onward into the new year with no fear.  I’m here to support YOU on your creative journey. As my gift to you I’m sharing some family pics and original photographs of some of my recent favorite memories. Am missing a few family members who were unable to travel because of work schedules, but here goes:

Christmas 2016 with some of the family-we’re totally rainbow people. We come in all colors of the heart.

Concert Five Blind Boys of Alabama with octogenarian powerhouse, Jimmy Carter

Our granddaughter’s annual holiday big canvas painting

As you know I’m into causes. Please join me in contributing your no fear energy into a cause in 2017. I support and stand with #NODAPL  as they refuse to wilt in the face of the greed monsters who simply do not consider the devastating consequences of oil spills and water contamination. ACTION relieves anxiety.

                                        

                                                     Original art * Nature Heals* acrylic

As always, we’re supporting and praying for a cure for cystic fibrosis, because our granddaughter is fighting it. I love this photo of her playing the clarinet. GO CF’ers!  Stay strong!

 

Playing an instrument helps children learn teamwork, discover talent, develop social skills, increase confidence, and increase eye-hand coordination.  Express yourself!

Exploring Sedona

Much love and appreciation to you all-back to working on the memoir.

                                

                                                   Old California

Journal prompt: write about fear. What helps you face your fears? See yourself as a spiritual guide, relative, or teacher who takes you by the hand and walks with you as you challenge yourself. What would your guide say to you? Don’t hold back. Use images to add to your journal entry. What feelings come over you as you write about fear? Where does fear live within your body? If fear (and money) were no option, what would you DO?

Third Time is the Charm!

 

Stay positive-keep looking UP!
I hope everyone is well out there.
This post is straight to the point.

This is my third time trying to post this text. For some reason, it hasn’t been showing. ??? WordPress must be revising or I have pre-election distraction disorder. Here we go again. One more time.

We’ve been inundated for months with the most vile words I ever remember hearing in my 63 years on the planet. These horrifying words such as “round ’em up. Get ’em outta here! Punch ’em in the face. Grab ’em by the pussy,” were said by a political candidate: Donald J. Trump. No matter what your politics are- GOP conservative, independent, Democrat, or Green Party, I really hope you have it in you to get out and vote tomorrow. If you’ve already voted, congratulations.

I am a Bernie Sanders supporter and an environmentalist who voted Clinton this time because I am NOT going to risk voting my conscience. BERNIE said this is not the time to vote third-party. I agree. The 2% is not enough. While I understand my brothers and sisters who are Green Party, I am not convinced that voting third-party will accomplish anything this time around. We have to STOP the distracted focusing on a classic, egomaniacal tyrant. Money, and the illusion of it, is NOT real power.

People didn’t take Hitler seriously back in the 30’s when he slowly rose to power. But the insanity of one man’s maniacal lust for power is legendary and more than terrifying. We all know the story. Now this kind of insane disregard for everything that is sacred in the Constitution of the United States of America, is being threatened in a similar way by the thinking and propaganda of such men as Hitler, Mussolini, Pol Pot, and Mao Zedong, who were tyrants. Trump’s father allegedly was a Nazi and supposedly in the KKK. If that is who you want to be, that’s between you and your maker. He does NOT represent me or anyone in my immediate family.

I think most people who are voting have already made up their minds. But if there is anyone out there who hasn’t decided, the New York Times took out a two page ad citing all Trump’s insults. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want a person charged with sexual assault, nonpayment of his employees, and 4000 pending lawsuits, to be elected to ANY office in the U. S. WHY DOES HE NOT HAVE TO PAY TAXES?

As women, we been beaten, jailed, threatened, and divorced for earning the right to vote. We still don’t make equal pay in the workplace. The ERA was never passed. An amendment was added, but the ERA itself was not legislated.

The GOP candidate this year is everything you teach your children NOT to be; he’s a bully with no morals, he uses foul language. He insults anyone who doesn’t agree with him, and he verbally threatened EACH one of his opponents. Would he be allowed to sit in a third grade classroom? NO! I believe he will be charged with sexual assault. PLEASE do not support this man.

Please don’t vote Trump. He doesn’t care about anyone. Do the math. Do the research.

Here’s to the vision of voting in Hillary Clinton for president. She supports children and families. That is how she started her career. She has earned her way, every step of the way, and while I doubt her connection to evil poisoning corporate giant, Monsanto, I still support her. We can work with her, hopefully, to ban FRACKING and GMO’s which are not tolerated in other countries.

Vote Clinton, then we can FLIP the HOUSE and get back in the groove with Sanders. He represents my values. I’m proud to be supporting Hillary Clinton because I know we can work with her as our president.

Please don’t vote for the madman.

love and peace,
Susan E. Rowland