Time Keeps On Slipping…

March has been an odd month for me these past few years —

Except for the staunchest of my winter loving friends, most of us in the Northern Hemisphere have all reached our saturation point of cold and snow by now and want it all gone already. The hope of the longed for First Day of Spring finally arriving lightens my mood.  Even though there is still several inches of snow on the ground, with more expected tonight, the thought of soon being able to put my down coat away for the season warms me immensely.

Of course, there is celebrating the birth of my first-born. Like all mamas of adult children I can still see the wide-eyed sparkle of those newborn eyes brought home oh so many years ago in the very eyes that roll, yet again, in some annoyance that I’ve -probably  happily – inflicted upon them.  Pretty much as I am sure I will do so again tonight when we meet up for birthday dinner. I’m Mom – it’s in the unwritten job description.

What has caught me off guard this year is what usually has been at the forefront of my mind on March 1st, these past few years.  I got to today, March 3rd, before the now 9th anniversary of my late-husband’s passing registered. I mean, it is not as if I did not know it was coming, after all his birthday – only a couple of weeks ago – is an automatic reminder.  Not to mention, I’ve had nearly a decade of it now. Yet the day itself came and went without so much as a blip to my conscience. I only noticed this morning, because someone else brought him up in conversation, that I had not noticed it even in passing thought. It truly was just another day.

I am not sure how I feel about that.

One hand, it is as clear-cut of a sign as can be that I no longer grieve for him. But, in reality, I stopped grieving years ago, because I am not the kind to wallow in such an emotion for so long before I make my own self sick of it. Which is a good thing, I know it is.  Still, there is this tiny little part of me that for the first ever wonders does it mean that I am slowly forgetting him? And while that bothers me just a little, very much like the month of March, my emotions on this are a fluid thing.

It has been nine years – isn’t it the way it should be? I think so, I think…

After all, how long do I continue to mark time in this way? Yet only a few days ago I was conversing with a friend about a certain point in recent time and what was my immediate point of reference? Whether or not Bill was around at that point and to calculate from there.  Clearly, I have not forgotten him and won’t be anytime soon.  Yet March 1st came and went without thought of him. Didn’t think that would happen either.

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Easy Does It – A Lullaby

I found this in an old composition book. I wrote this many years ago for a baby who is turning 33 minutes from now. Time flies indeed…

Easy does it, my child, my sweet delight
Be not afraid of the deep dark of night
Even in the dark His love shines so bright
Do not let bad dreams fill you with such fright

Trust that your Father’s arms do hold you tight
He holds you in His palm and in His sight
Close now your eyes and have faith in His might
Easy does it, my child, ’till morning light

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Last Laugh

When I first scanned Facebook earlier today. I saw that various friends had already changed their cover photos (large banner type image seen behind a person’s profile picture – for non-Facebook users), to pastel colors or shades of green to herald in the coming of spring. I cannot say that I blamed them. I’ve posted my share of snark to Gaea, Demeter and crew bemoaning -okay bitching about- the weather, much to the amusement of my Facebook friends. While this winter was not a truly bad winter, at least not compared to last winter – which was brutal by NYC standards, it still was not a pleasant one. I, for one, am very glad we are in the final stages of this cold dreadfulness. I have to admit seeing the changing covers and the general relief of yes, it’s almost over! among us Northern-Hemisphere dwellers was catching. That was my mistake. I really should have known better.

When I have no plans to go for the weekend, I pay no heed to the weather forecast from Friday night until Monday morning. Thus it took me by surprise to look out of my window and see snow falling. Not just falling, but falling heavily – there was no question this stuff was sticking. Oddly enough instead of being upset, I was highly amused. After all, I have witnessed it snow in April several times through out my life and here it is only March 1st. As I said, I really should have known better. I know in the morning as I look at the forecast for the week, so I can plan my wardrobe, a part of me cannot help but imagine Jack Frost chuckling to himself about this.

NYC: It’s March 1st! It’s almost spring, *breaks out pastels in hopes of sunshine* yay!

Jack Frost: “Almost spring” means it’s still winter, *dumps 5 inches of snow* put the parkas back on bitches!!

Yeah, Ol’ Jack is having a good giggle on this one – bastard!
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8th-annualc2a0slice-of-life-story-challenge-invite

Don’t Fill In The Blank

Someone referred to me as African-American. I corrected her by saying no, I’m American, no modifier. She didn’t get it. Her expression clearly wanted to ask questions she was not sure how to phrase. So I asked if she referred to herself as British-American, which of course I knew she did not. Her response was to patiently explain, as though speaking to a young child, how her family has been here for a few generations now, they do not claim their roots from long ago, they are simply American. It was as she reached the last few words that I saw the light bulb go on for her. I then asked, so why does everyone else in a similar vein get a modifier? To her credit she had the grace to be embarrassed as it sank in.

When I was a child, oh SO long ago, we were Black, White, Spanish and Chinese. The only time a modifier came up was to differentiate between American Indians and Indians from across the ocean or a specific Asian culture. Regardless, if you were born here you were automatically American. Naturalization information did not take family background or culture into consideration. On US passports you are not African-American, Irish-American or Spanish-American etc. If you chose to become an American citizen, you didn’t abandon your culture, you mixed it in. People came here on purpose to be American, not _____-American.

American.

Then something happened in the late 70s – early 80’s. People wanted their familial cultures, individuality recognized and thus _____-American became a thing. The flavors in this melting pot of the USA no longer wanted to blend in, but to stand out. Individual cultural pride not-so-slowly began to override national pride. At what cost?  Sometimes it feels as though, instead of a melting pot, America has become this barrel of crabs in which each race, ethnicity, culture etc. is simultaneously pulling the other down while clamoring to the top.

It took 9/11 to make us one nation indivisible again. Like most families, we may pick on each other, but don’t you dare pick on us. All prefixes dropped as we clutched our flag, like pearls, to our collective bosoms; “America The Beautiful”, “The Star-Spangled Banner” and “God Bless America” in our ears and on our reverent tongues. Still, it was a short-lived patriotism as the strands of solidarity popped when the finger-pointing began.  Because like most families, once the immediate threat to the overall clan seems over we are right back to ripping each other’s guts out.  We had a slight, and I do mean slight, resurgence of national pride last year as some stood up in proverbial arms when North Korea made threats against America for the release of the movie “The Interview”. After the movie was re-edited, to be slightly less offensive to the North Korean government and finally released, we learned the film was not worth the brouhaha being made over it and national fervor melted faster than an ice-cube in the desert in summer.

Why do we need something to hate collectively in order to not hate each other individually? In the past century we’ve in turns have had beefs with Japan, Germany, Russia, and the Middle East. Now we have “tensions” on multiple fronts. I am not advocating another tragedy. There’s enough in our history books as it is. We should not need a common threat to find common ground, but what will it take for us to be just American again?

Diversity is not supposed to be divisive.

Sweet Thing

In of one of my fave breakfast places near my job I am standing next to a woman giving her order to the new guy. The cashier starts to instruct the new guy on the particular way this customer likes her tea.

Woman: Make sure it’s the sweet, now. If it’s not you know what you have to do right?

New Guy: No, what?

The woman pantomimes licking her index finger and then sticking it in a cup of coffee and stirring. The guy blushes and starts laughing explaining how he’s not allowed to do that. The cashier who is definitely quite familiar with the woman, just shakes her head and starts laughing.

Cashier: Stop torturing him.

In the interim one of grill guys, and another guy walk up with trays laden with goodies to be placed in the display. The cookie tray stops in front of the woman, pastries stop in front of me as they wait for the new guy and cashier to move.

Woman and I (in unison): Oh! For me? Why thank you!

She is definitely a kindred spirit as we all laugh.

Grill guy (not missing a beat): You are already sweet enough, adding this much sugar to you is overkill!

Me: Flatterer!

Woman: But I have to taste one! You know, to make sure they’re good enough to serve to people.

Grill guy laughs rolling his eyes in amusement and hands her a chocolate chip cookie. She takes the cookie and has a bite.

Me: Hey, you know you always need a second opinion on these things.

Clearly knowing some comment from me was forthcoming, a chocolate chip cookie is in my hand before I can finish the sentence. I thank him in English, Spanish and German.

New Guy (handing the woman her tea): There you go just the way you like it.

Woman: Did you use you finger?

Cashier (still laughing): Will you stop! Aren’t you married?

Woman (points at Grill Guy): He’s my husband as long as he is feeding me cookies.

Me (pointing at New Guy): And he’s her boyfriend as long as he gets the tea sweet.

Cashier (faux groans): The two of you are bad on your own, I can’t take on both of you together.

Woman and I (not missing a beat): That’s not what you said last night!

Like I said, kindred spirits.

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Let’s see how others are slicing things up this Tuesday!

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life Weekly Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

So Cold

Oh so cold | my soul breaks

Your sweet warming touch | slick shards that shatter though my heart

Now fills with trepidation | the shrapnel of all your lies

Where it was once welcomed most fondly | leaves me with harsh truths

Breaks my soul | oh so cold

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The “Tonequain” is a poetic form created invented by Tony Meade. It is based on the classic cinquain form, then breaks it by adding an extra syllable to each line, giving a five-line poem with lines of 3, 5, 7, 9 and 3 syllables in that order. In addition where the classic has strict use of iambs, because of the odd number of syllables you cannot write an iambic poem in this form (you could try writing in dactyls, amphibrachs and/or anapaests if you want). You are free from of the iambic tyranny!

You can reverse the order of the lines, write a two stanza poem where the form of the stanzas mirror each other, or you could write a garland or even a coronet.

I had a little fun here where I wrote two Tonequains side by side. The first in 3, 5, 7, 9, 3 syllable order, the second in reverse with a 3, 9, 7, 5, 3 order. Each a Tonequin on its own, together creating a Super Tone if you will.

Enjoy

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meeting The Bar : The Cinquain … Expanded

Train Pain

Took the uptown #2 Local one stop uptown to catch the express because nothing was stopping on the downtown local stations due to signal malfunction.

Get put off the express #2 after a couple of stops because the train itself was malfunctioning.

Get on the #5 Express into lower Manhattan to transfer to the A train that places me less than a block from my job site.

Get to the A train platform only to learn there are no A or C trains running downtown because of a problem at Canal Street.

Play Human Triplanner.MTA.info Guide to about five different lost and clueless commuters in the interim.

Go back to the 4/5 Express train to get into Brooklyn and walk the five blocks I was trying to avoid in the first place.

Mama Mary gets her and her temporary Lost Little Lambs into Brooklyn and part ways.

Finally reach work and what is the very first email I see? “MTA Unlimited Ride MetroCard Fare Increase…”

Dear Universe, apparently, you got jokes this morning!
HA HA very funny muthafugga!

Unspoken

.
.

Hello darkness, my old friend
In twisted linen wound
My sweated girth

I’ve come to talk with you again,
In screams and wails without sound
Gossamer baggage weighting me to the earth

Because a vision softly creeping,
While the sun was upward bound
Turning this soul to flameless hearth

Left its seeds while I was sleeping
Taking from my flesh its pound
For all it’s worth

And the vision that was planted in my brain
The tick- tock of my own ‘gator run aground
Mocking me in a Cheshire mirth

Still remains
In the ever-growing mound
Of compassion’s dearth

Within the sound of silence
To seethe and confound
The truth never given birth
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Abhra is hosting at the Poetics bar here at dVerse Poets Pub today, challenging us to talk about secrets without actually revealing any.

Using the ever familiar lyrics of Simon & Garfunkle’s “Sound of Silence”  in a modified combination of Glosa and Trireme Sonnet forms.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics : What is your secret

To Hug Or Not

kitten-no-hug

Usually proficient to a fault, an administrator at one of the venues where I teach was really having what Mama would have called a day a few weeks back.  We had never had a non work-related conversation before that day, but clearly something was troubling her and she was about to break down. When the session was over, I invited her into the room, locked the doors, sat in one chair and literally ordered her to sit in another and spill it right then and there before she totally lost it. Long story-short, she got it out of her system, and I offered advice, opinion and platitudes along the way. While the problem itself wasn’t solved that day, the pent of frustration affecting her performance at work and her over all mood was released and she was much better. I packed up and went on my way, thinking nothing of it. Anyone trying to suppress emotions to that degree will swear on bibles they were getting away with the subterfuge. Almost always the distress is transparent, it just needs an outlet. Surprisingly, it took me, a near stranger, to get it out of her. Then again, maybe not all that surprisingly. After all, we’ve all heard of how many will confess deep sorrows to a random bartender that wouldn’t or couldn’t be told to friends.

Returning to the venue again last week for another class she and I were exchanging our usual pleasantries when she suddenly reached out and bear hugged me. I understood she was grateful and was thanking me for showing care that day when even her co-workers could not have been so bothered, but having just shy of totally forgotten our last encounter I was not mentally prepared for it. In total opposition of my behavior the last time we saw each other, I was not gentle at all when I pushed away, just short of snarling for her to let go of me. She was understandably befuddled so I had to explain.

Now this is likely going to surprise some people, but here goes. I really do not like to hug or be hugged by every body. The expression of the black kitten from the above picture is me on the inside 90% of the time when being hugged.

Obviously, there are those with whom I give and receive hugs freely and willingly. With some other people, it could go either way as to who’s the top or bottom (< see what I did there?).  Nor is it a religious, germ-a-phobe, or I hate people kind of thing because none of that applies here. I do not get the urge to run off and wash head-to-toe when I hug, I just don’t like the contact. I do not like being mauled, you may call it being hugged, by just any and every body.  I am not even going into the whole cheek-to-cheek whether to kiss, to air-kiss or not to kiss  at all aspect. And yes, while I fully concede that for a self-proclaimed Social Mothra who is constantly milling around people, this is a baffling complex to have.

When I do the hugging thing, it is with people who I see on a regular enough basis to have become accustomed enough to let them within my personal space without cringing. I can, and often do, the one arm around the shoulder thing socially without a problem. It is, the full wrap both arms around the body and squeeze thing that is the problem for me. I feel that much physical contact should be reserved for close family, good friends and other loved ones.

As with most things there are exceptions. Though certain friends and I had known each other for years it was only online. As the opportunities arose for us to finally meet face-to-face individually and collectively the giving and receiving of hugs was never in question. I hugged, happily and joyfully.

This becomes a problem when in a heavy social setting where I am standing in a mixed crowd where some people I really know, those I somewhat know, but am not close to and the ones I barely or do not know at all. Those I barely or do not know are easy. They are not expecting to receive a hug from a relative stranger, and there is no reason to give one. For everyone else, rather than explain, one more time, yet again, that it is nothing personal, but I really do not like hugging. It really is just easier to grit my teeth, suffer through a series of quick hugs and just be done with it. For some reason it is okay for a seated person not to stand and hug.  And it is equally okay, if the one standing does not desire to lean down and give a hug, unless it is for close family, friends, loved ones. For that reason, I try to be seated, if I can.

Luckily, the venue administrator understood. Apparently she has a family member with similar view and thus took it in stride.  But for many it then becomes this but why? situation as though not wanting to be hugged by every one on the blessed earth must have been caused by some traumatic experience.  And even if it were the case, if they are someone I don’t want to hug, what are the odds they are someone I would share a traumatic experience with? Because, let’s be honest, not everyone who holds the title of a friend is also a loved one. There is no way to be honest and be kind in that situation.

Everybody has his or her thing/s. Hugging is one of mine. So depending on the person, the situation and especially my mood please don’t take personally if I don’t elect to throw my arms around you. In this case, really, it’s me not you, I promise.

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That’s my two cents, let’s see how others are slicing it up for the week:

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Slice of Life Writing Challenge | Two Writing Teachers