Category Archives: Thinking Aloud

When Winter Cradles Spring

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According to the calendar, this is spring’s first day
I can just make out the tinges of green on its way
But one more winter’s snowfall has one last say
Making this day, just like my heart, somewhat gray
Those first hints of green are a melancholy thing
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

The spring day we met, the ground still had snow
And like the seedlings underneath a love began to grow
And the years like sunlight increased it’s glow
But on a snowy spring day, you were taken so
Trapped in a time warp, my eyes start to sting
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

It has been a few years now, since you’ve died
And I concede, the tears grow less, that I’ve cried
I would love to say my pain has turned its tide
But on days like today all would know I’ve lied
For me it’s a lamentation, the morning birds sing
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

When I look at the walls, in the spaces somewhat bare
In my mind’s eyes, are the pictures of you, still hanging there
The seasons come, the seasons go, in their time allotted share
But this, not quite winter, not quite spring, holds bittersweet air
I tug at the finger that sometimes wears your wedding ring
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

Sometimes I’m hit with pangs that my heart can barely stand
But they’re starting to fade, like the tide wearing away sand

Those first hints of green are a melancholy thing
Trapped in a time warp my eyes start to sting
For me it’s a lamentation, the morning birds sing
I tug at the finger that sometimes wears your wedding ring
Wondering if, no when, my heart will ease its painful cling
Oh my love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

>========<

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

* I wrote this poem eight years ago when my husband was very much among the living.
* Six years ago on this day, he became my late-husband.
* Two years ago this week I started this blog, referencing the above write, but somehow never posted it.
* Today I note, yet again, how time flies regardless of fun and I post and I remember and I smile and I give thanks again to all of you who have chosen to follow along with me on this path, no matter when you picked up the trail.

Raivenne

in public passing

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I reference Whitney Houston in the following as she has become the latest occurrence of that which has garnered my ire, but I mean this in deference for all troubled celebrities who pass…

Does any one remember “don’t speak ill of the dead”?

I don’t understand this vitriol that occurs whenever a fallen celebrity dies. I concede my interest in Whitney Houston of late began and ended within the length of whichever song of hers popped up on my iPod. I enjoy the beauty of her voice for however long I may (or may not) have the song on replay until I move on. She was a talented singer and that we my never her anything new from her again is a loss for those who enjoyed her singing.

Those of us that don’t find the humor of such disrespect (especially within minutes of the announcements of the person passing) and dare call the critics to task don’t know how to take a joke or are taking things too seriously. No I, like millions of other Houston fans, did not scour the Internet each day for all news Whitney. That did not make us any less of her fans or make her passing any less meaningful to us in our own little ways. The disrespect of the dead is bad enough and some also choose to also belittle the living who want to take a moment to offer their respects even if it’s only something as simple as a single line Facebook status.

Did she take a superstar career and blow it all to smithereens? Yes, no one denies that. Ninety-point-whatever of us in this world get to fuck-up in relative private and will never have our laundry out but to a select few. In this world of information overload, most celebrities don’t have that luxury and intentionally or not, Houston’s laundry was there for all to gander. Eventually, even she owned up to her mistakes. Yet, because she (and other celebrities) don’t get a chance to “redeem themselves” in the public eye, it justifies the internet critics carte blanche to spout whatever snarky bullshit they feel like in the guise of being funny. Why? Just because the dead and their grieving family will likely never read it, does not make it any less hurtful. It is not gallows humor, it is just mean. So no, I do not feel compelled to pat such behavior on the back.

Just remember whether you (the critics), become famous, infamous or not, some day you will die and someone is going to talk about you.

Let he who is without / cast…

Death Be Not iPod

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It’s hard to believe this has only existed for slightly over ten years, but I remember when the first iPod commercials aired on television. It was waaaaay out of my price range for several years, but oh the possibilities of it could easily be seen. It was years later (a second-hand Generation 3 purchased in 2005), before I could finally get my grubby little paws on one, but once I did, yeah, I understood why everyone I knew who owned one felt so damned superior to all those still walking around with their Walkmans and CDs. Yes, there were (and still are), other MP3 players on the market, but none ever have or likely ever will touch the superiority of the machine that is the iPod.

My iPod is a necessary tool to my survival of the grind known of the daily work commute. It has spared me from hearing/listening to so much of the inane or teenage conversations, kiddie tantrums, babies screaming, subway beggars and would-be-Lotharios over the years.

Even when walking in the sidewalks, it has saved me. I often have the earbuds in, but do not have the music turned on. It’s so sweet to be able to ignore the lascivious “Hey baby”s, by pretending I can’t hear them due to my “music” and walking right past them.

In between diversionary street tactics, my iPod has been:
— an argument settler: “No, those are not the lyrics “Maude” – here listen!”
— a mood maker/changer: Whatever bad mood I’m in, I can find the appropriate playlist to sooth the savage (or sometimes sobbing) beast.
— a party maker: my Move playlist makes you want to do just that – MOVE!

Most of all, it was the one thing where I could listen to any and all of my musical tastes without judgement and/or commentary when I wanted to hear it (as long as it was charged that is). If I want to listen to Metallica at 8am, Pat Methany at 11am. Los Invisibles at 2pm, Reba MacIntire at 4pm, Ne-yo at 6pm, The Spice Girls at 7pm and Andrea Bocelli at 9pm, by God I could, and it was good!

When my late-husband wanted to blast something on TV or my (the young) sons wanted play games loud while I was on the computer – no problem. My love of Heavy Metal has happily shared the iPod stage with Country, Soul, Video Game Soundtracks, Trance, Classic Rock, 80’s Hair Bands, 70’s horns, Blues, Pop, Movie Scores, Show tunes, TV Themes and so much more.

Even when cell phones became MP3 player capable, I would not give up iPod. My smart phone is my smart phone, but my iPod is my musical heart. I accidentally leave my smart phone at home on ocassion (and sometimes on purpose), but I have never left my iPod home on purpose. I was once six blocks away from home when I realized I left my iPod and went back to get it. Two blocks after leaving my house again I realized I left my cell phone in the house when I went to get my iPod. I did not go back for cell phone.

My iPods have crossed countries and oceans. Over the years, my current iPod has somehow survived accidental drops, kicks, rain, snow, sleet and once being partially run over by a taxi. I pretty much thought the thing was invincible.

Then this morning, accompanied by the clicking of death, I saw this…

Yes, I know it is just an iPod.
Yes, I know even Apple products eventually die.
And yes, in all honesty, its replacement will be my hands by day’s end.

Still, this particular piece of machinery has served me so well over the years and I just had to give its due.

As posted I on my Facebook:

Since 2007, with only one factory reset in its tenure, this has given unparallelled service to my musical eccentricities until this morning. It was even gracious enough to wait until James Taylor was finished before clicking into oblivion.

In a nod to my geekdom, I have to admit that when I first saw the symbol my initial reaction was “I don’t remember downloading any X-Men videos to this…”, then the reality of its loss hit me.

R.I.P. good friend 😦

Soulmates

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I have friends who are in long-term with their mates.
I have friends who have just had their hearts broken.
I have friends who made the decision to be the heart breaker.
I have friends who cannot be so bothered with the pursuit and choose celibacy.
I have friends who will not be so bothered with it, but are not choosing to be celibate.
I have friends who are looking so hard for theirs; they are completely deaf to the Klaxons of desperation, which are blasting the eardrums of everyone else around them.

And for what? The Soul-mate (cue echo machine).

To many, the soul-mate interpretation of love is not an interpretation, it is not a myth, and it is not modern. Rather, it is The Way It Is, and the way it always has been.

* presses play on effin_sappy-assed_violins_and_fireworks.mp3 *

Find “The One” and you will be happy.
Find “The One” and your whole life falls into place.
Find “The One” and no pursuit, no passion, no love could be any greater than the love you feel when you finally embrace your soul-mate.

Ah, the amazing powers of the SOUL-MATE
(music crescendo – doves flying – sun shining – heavens parting – angels singing… you get the drift)…

Oh bollocks already!

* And insert record-scratch.mp3 here *

I personally have always had a problem with that theory – it is too damned easy. Everyone wants the easy way out, or more specifically the easy way in love and guess what? It don’t work that way. Yes, this very poet who has dozens of words expounding on the very subject of the perfect romantic love within this very blog said it. Slap on a pair and deal with it, I got more.

Everything worthwhile having gives you some crap, if not out right hell. “The One” is no different.

Contrary to what popular romantic theory (aka TV – Movies – Music – Poetry), would have you believe, meeting your soul-mate doesn’t guarantee “happily ever after.” Things don’t always get easier when you find that special someone and in fact, they might get even harder from time to time.

Let’s face it, even in the Disney-fied fairy tales most of the lovers either went through the “I can’t stand him / her” stage before they fell in love or had to tackle some major shit (and sometimes both), before the happily-ever-after finally kicked in. And are we really sure about that happily-ever-after? I mean Princess Aurora has been asleep for one hundred years! Can you imagine Aurora’s stress on having to suddenly get up-to-date on fashions (oh gurl that gown is so last century!) and modern conveniences (a chamber pot in its own room M’Lord? How divine!) while Phillips is busy still trying to maintain the apparent duties of being heir apparent? (Seriously babe, I couldn’t give a dragon’s fart on whether you wear the pink or blue bustle.)

Okay fine, let’s jump the fairy tales up a century or two:

Yes, Edward Lewis (Richard Gere) and Vivian Ward (Julia Roberts) fall in love in Pretty Woman, but we aren’t there after the screen fades to black to see how the multimillionaire and former prostitute try to make their relationship work past the fire-escape. You know Philip Stuckey (Jason Alexander) the only other person who knew (and not in Edward’s best graces), blabbed that tidbit of her previous employment all over the place, which I am sure was taken oh so well by the other ladies in their snotty little society.

Hell, let’s jump another couple of decades forward to Sex and the City (the television show). Carrie and Big went through years of bullshit (and other lovers), before they got their act together. Years. Yet no one denies those two are soul-mates.

In Sex and the City: The Movie 1, Carrie reads the story of Cinderella to one of her best-friend Charlotte’s young daughter, Lily. At the end of the story, she looks at the little girl and says, “You know this is just a fairy tale, right sweetheart? Things always don’t happen like this in real life”

Let’s stick with our modern-day fairytale princess Carrie Bradshaw for just a tad moment longer. Even after she and Big are married – they learn, in Sex and the City: The Movie 2, with even a love as grand as theirs (*barfing.mp3 *), it ain’t always easy keeping the magic going.

Falling in love, as hard as it sometimes is, is the easy part. Staying in love is work.

The problem is few want to work. Thus, I reiterate my sentence from above…

Everything worthwhile having gives you some crap, if not out right hell from time to time. “The One” is no different.

Ultimately, a soul-mate is someone you can grow with, and the only way to grow together is to face challenges together and challenges are work.

And here is where I’m really gonna set fire to the rain…

Nearly, everyone says and thinks of a soul-mate as the all-encompassing, be all and end all romantic type of love.

I propose a person can have more than one soul-mate and while a soul-mate is always, someone you want to share the rest of your days with, a soul-mate is not necessarily or solely the person you also want to share your bed with for the rest of your days.

But that thought is a blog for another day…

Day of the Longest Night

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Some lament this day, others find nothing amiss
The cold darkness fills with bittersweet bliss
Whether Hanukkah or Kwanzaa lights
Or a Christmas tree making spirits bright
On this day of the Longest Night

Saturnalia calls for yet another repast
Luna beams knowing this feast will last
Comets pirouette in bacchanal delight
Old Man Winter smiles and takes flight
On this day of the Longest Night

I heed the nightingale, not the lark
A natural nocturnal, night give my soul spark
Yes, the months lie ahead to feel winter’s blight
And tomorrow marks the slow fall of the dark’s might
But today is Winter solstice and I’m bundled tight
On this day of the Longest Night

‘Tis The Season

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‘Tis the season full of joy
smiles on the faces of every girl and boy

Presents wrapped by the tree, searching for your name
trying to guess the contents – toys, clothes or a games

Singing carols by the fire,
or listening to carolers, outside the door
Not worrying about the last cup of eggnog
knowing there’s more

Snow covering the streets,
adding to the yuletide
I remember when I used to see it all from the window inside

My Christmas fire, is the heat felt through a grate
Though I haven’t even had much of that as of late

A new coat for me is someone’s thrown away old
that I find here or about
The only game I play, is guessing when to leave
before the cops throw me out

I’ve long since given up on the Christmas deal
I count my blessings that I make it to the next meal

The snow covering the streets, freezes me to the bone
for all the shoppers on the street, I sit here alone

Moving from one corner to the next, just to the pass the time
wishing for more than a nickel or dime

I get more dollars than coins these days, for some reason

Oh right, I remember…

‘Tis the season

>===<>===<

Entered in:

Poetry Picnic Week 18:
Snow, December, Winter Vacations & Wildness,

Commute

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The subway commute is always an awkward ride
More than an hour of standing with the sweating masses
Somehow managing to remain looking dignified
When buffeted about by strangers’ asses

It’s near winter but the air-conditioning is set to Siberia
And several passengers seem on the verge of hysteria

I risk serious hearing loss by trying to drown out the inane
Cacophony of various mindless teenage chatter
I’d read, but my weary eyes just won’t bear the strain
And a snooze is impossible amid the jostling and clatter

The smell of food on the subway making my stomach rumble
The leftover stench from a derelict rider causing a grumble

Granted, it’s always better when I can find a seat
Unless I relinquish it to someone pregnant or older
And sometimes, I wish I had stayed on my feet
When a strange sleepy head leans on my shoulder

But right now I’m good though the train is again stuck
For I’m conversing with a stranger who is cute as all fuck

NaNoWriMo – Nyah! Nyah! Nyah!

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NANOWRIMO-2011

I walked in my door after hanging out Wednesday evening. I did not leave my house again until I left for work this morning. During that time I pumped out over 9,000 words, including working on Thanksgiving Day, to get this award.

I now return to my regularly scheduled life. Pass this gal a drink and bring on the holidays!

WOOT!

===== Full Epilogue 11/30/2011 ====

NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) 2011 was a great experience and I am so glad to have participated in it. For those unfamiliar with it, National Novel Writing Month is a challenge to write 50,000 words of your novel within the thirty days of November. There are no prizes other than a fill out and print-it-yourself certificate and the bragging rights of knowing you did it! For me, who had yet written Word 1, that was more than enough.

30 days seems like plenty of time to pen 50,000 words until you BS half the month away. On November 21st I had 41742 words in and only 8 days to meet the 50k challenge with Thanksgiving weekend square in the middle of it. Naturally, temptation rears its ugly head. I am invited to two events, I really wanted to attend and the weather this past weekend was freaking beautiful for late November in NYC! BEA-U-TI-FUL I tell you! It was so unfair!

I looked at the sun through my window, watched the clock past toward and beyond the event times, sighed and typed away. I had no choice. At one in the morning of Day 28 I hit 51441. Enough for NaNoWriMo, but my personal challenge was 52k, so I still had work to do. Twenty-four hours later, I officially validated my work on their website at 52,640 words and received the certificate posted above.

I know I would have gotten off my duff and eventually started pounding out the novel that has played in the far recesses of my mind for quite a few years now. Still, the NaNoWriMo challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days was the perfect kick-start and learning experience. I am nowhere near having a manuscript I would email to good friends, let alone a publisher, but I I am considerably more on my way to that goal than I was thirty days ago.

Now, 57012 words in, I can already see the first couple of chapters I planned in my original outline are likely to be trashed. They are only marginally informational to the development of the core characters and I can do without them. I have already gone in side plot directions, I had not thought of before, and oh! -I’ve killed off a character! In addition, I have also learned some scenes are better told in narrative, while others are best done in character dialog.

Most important, I’ve learned I’m verbose (I KNOW – whodathunkit?!). I am going to have to take an editing weed whacker in the first drafts to fine-tune this when I’m ready.

Geesh! And I though writing poetry was difficult!

The plot sickens, eh? 😉

First Snow

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I went to sleep in a foul mood and it has followed me to my waking hours. No, not foul because it denotes anger, I’m not feeling angry. I’m feeling inexplicably… hurt. Okay, maybe not totally inexplicably now that I’ve identified the correct emotion, yet I’m feeling it nonetheless and the weather is not helping in the improvement of it.

I’m staring out of the window watching the first snow of Winter 2011/2012. The artist in me can’t help but admire the pretty, pristine fluffy whiteness as it gently vales. As for the rest of me? I am not happy. It’s still officially early autumn. Snow? In New York City? In October? Any snow after Veteran’s Day but before December gives me pause, but it’s in November so I can accept it, but this? There is something innately wrong with this super early snow fall. Granted, I already know it’s not going to be much of a snow fall and it will melt quickly. Still… It’s snowing and it’s actually sticking to the ground, in October. If this is a sign of what’s to come, I am NOT looking forward to this winter at all.

Looks like it’s going to be a long, quiet weekend inside the house and my thoughts after all.

“And I can’t keep holding on
To what you’ve got
When all you’ve got is hurt.”
U2 – One

Why I’m Adipositive…

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I’ve modeled for The Adipositivity Project, for about three and half years now and again today I am asked why. Thankfully, I know from those who’ve asked, the question is not the why of TAP itself, but why me? Why do “I” shamelessly participate? And quick answer is “Why not?”

Yes, I own a full length mirror at home. It may be old and has started to be spotty in some places, but it is no way near being so old that it can fool my eyes into not seeing what’s there. Trust me, I see every roll, lump, bump, crease, crevice, varicose vein, crows feet, laugh line, cellulite, splotch, mole, scar that I have gained over my forty-eight years on this earth quite clearly. I also see the tan lines from the bikini I wore at the pool in Las Vegas this past summer. I see the beauty mark my on breast that my late-husband was drawn to kiss as a moth is drawn to porch light after dark. I see the wrinkle I have over my right eyebrow only, because I am constantly arching it in sarcasm, amusement, anger, delight and yeah seduction. I see the body that used to be able to do sixty-crunches in sixty seconds, but fully owns that the only crunch I’m interested in now is usually Nestle’s. I’m simply a human female who happens to be fat and refuses to be cowered in the booth, in the back, in the corner, in the dark, by a society that constantly sees me as less than average simply because I weigh more than average.

I can’t lie; I didn’t always embrace my size. I always had the broad shoulders, thick thighs and big ol’ booty that drove my poor mother crazy when clothes shopping as a child. Even before I crossed that magical line that classified me as fat, many years before the dreaded letters BMI became a part of our health lexicon, I was never small enough to be considered a “plus-size” model even by current standards. My current state of fatness seemed to take only a few easy years to develop. As my friend Lyn is fond of saying “God made me and I helped out”; but the acceptance of that fatness and the phatness of me was a much longer, harder struggle that (in retrospect), even I concede was not as hard as it now for my fellow sisters-in-fatness. I have a special empathy for all the young fat girls and women coming up in this age where the constant bombardment of images of beauty and health do not reflect the beauty they see in their own mirrors each day.

Dot Golberg, a fan of The Adipositivity Project recently posted a YouTube clip on the Facebook page of Substantia Jones, the amazing photographer behind TAP that makes it the fat-de-force it is. Technically, the clip is a project for her college film course. In reality, the clip is in fact “a love letter to Adipositivity” as one commenter to the post aptly stated. While Ms. Goldberg speaks solely for herself, her words, her self-discovery and awareness of her own beauty are words I’m sure every woman of size, wherever they are in their personal journey, can relate to. As I posted on my own Facebook wall when I shared it, the reason why I continue to participate in The Adipositivity Project is For the unspoken fat women out there who have felt or want feel this, but can’t put it into heartfelt words as beautifully as Dot Goldberger has.
Thank you, Dot.

Watch Dot Goldberg’s love letter here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTzfBws7JWg

“Yes, I am fat. Yes, I am curvy. And yes, I am beautiful. I am all of those things.”
– Dot Golberg