Stain-glass Eyes

During the Thanksgiving holiday, Ashley, my nephew, ended his life. I knew Ashley through my sister, Mary, his mother.   Love radiated from her in her stories about him or when I’d hear her talk to Ashley on the phone. She animated his personality through her unconditional love for him.   Mary was brought to her knees losing Ash. She lost her buddy, her son. But…. she does understand his desperation. Mary was unable to care for him when he got more and more difficult to handle and she adopted him out when he was nine, seeing no other way. Later in his life they often had daily contact by phone or texts. She let him try to make sense of his life. So many times she just listened.   She did her best to coach him and ask him questions about his ideas. Sometimes he'd blame her for his frustration. Eventually he’d apologize and reassure her, “ I love you Mom, I’m trying, I’m doing my best .”   Knowing their bond was strong and his death would be hard on her, Ashley took th...

Pic by Holden I love my children. It takes my breath away Literally---I gasp. Their bravery. Strength in spite of setbacks. Life’s Inevitable heartbreaks. Altering so many trajectories. A small rudder tug. Another. Another. Steadfast in their search for meaning.   They take a look at the big picture for truth and lies, Back to the smallest of details. They interlace their magic With threads of love. To those right next to them. And further to those unforgotten desperate souls. My heart bulges.   Gratitude for their existence helps me live my life. Girds me up —- shields me. I find I can muffle bad news about humanity. And evil I can’t stomach, Because of this bond. I love my children. They live in stringent, unyielding, frigid societies. They have to paw through the dirt, like dogs. Trying to get deep enough   to be able to crawl under the fences they face. My children are adults.   Does it matter if I know them? I trust them. I love them. They trust and love me. Oh ...

  (2.5min read) After I write— I edit so much I don’t really consider it to be writing just editing.  That  can be a problem. It’s the “work” part of writing. If I categorize it as “work” in my mind, then I’m more likely to avoid the damn thing altogether and I wouldn’t be happy with my writing as it stands alone—-without editing. The thing about “work” -- it's a dichotomy: Work—-pain in the ass, no fun, avoid at all costs-I’m a child for god’s sake! Work—feels so good to complete this, I love being in the moment with something I’m good at and see actual progress. At times I feel like editing is never done. No wonder writers don’t get published. They never see a piece complete. So doing the “work” is like swinging from branch to branch like a squirrel who hopes to either find a mate or a piece of hidden food—continually. I have a “Pen to Paper” goal each morning. It helps me feel less inclined to write in my small, brown chair too long so when I try to stand up I can’t! ...

HAPPY NEW YEAR (Thank you ahead for reading) I’ve just returned from travel to Germany. My son Holden lives in Berlin and welcomed me for a visit before the holiday. I want to share one of my experiences. Going through this helped me see I’m calmer and more grounded.  I Enjoy the Train Rides in Germany Holden and I traveled two different times on regional trains for his Christmas performances. One was in Bautzen and the other in Zittow. They’re considered Saxony regions of East Germany.They border the Czech republic. It makes them very interesting. More rural areas. The people are less likely to speak English. I’m amazed at how much they do speak compared to my ability to speak German, though.  One day while Holden was working (while in Bautzen) I decided to wander the Christmas Market (Weinachtmarkt) and go to a local museum. I already saw one of his early performances and the evening performance was sold out.  One of my favorite things to do in is walk with "Some"...