Posts

Featured Post

Rock the Raft (My Aunt Madge's raft)

Image
  Aunt Madge Cronan-Ryerse Lately, I’ve used a raft anchored out on Lake Michigan, for a much-needed metaphor. I needed something to give me a visual for my challenges and aspirations. I needed a strong one! When I was growing up my Aunt Madge had a large, wooden raft anchored out in the bay on Lake Michigan. You could see it from her picture window, (in a cabin eventually made into a house) on a sandy, grassy hill above the beach. My memory intensifies with every one of my senses. Her raft had large, red, rusting metal barrels under it to keep it afloat. A marvelous wall-less room made of large planks of wood sat above the barrels. Exposed to sun and eyes. Wooden steps led from the water. There was a sturdy anchor to keep it from being torn away by waves. When I was under the raft the barrels seemed to deflect most of the small waves. The under part felt safe to me. It was shaded from the bright summer sky while I tread in the water, hanging on. Most of my body was camouflaged and...
Post a Comment
Read more

Muffled Rush Hour (2 min. read)

Image
  A distant train…peals through the city, Splats of cold flakes suddenly fall around me. I stop in my tracks on my way home. Rush hour joins twilight With an early snake out of the city.   Bumper to bumper it vibrates. Cool, delicate, woven pieces of snow land on my face. My senses are tickled and mesmerized. The north wind is still.   I smell winter. Everything starts to vanish behind the sheets of snowfall. Muffled with a soundless cover of white. Time and train bow before this crown of snow. Puffs of joy. It’s like I’m in a forest of floating white, Sheltered among soft cushions. “In this now can you stay with me?” Snow challenges. I tilt my head back in approval.   You fall like apple blossom petals, In adagio rhythm. Moisten my tongue and my eyelids grow heavy. You fold around me, Release me from adulthood. My inner-child steps out of me and smiles. Into your cloud of snow. Together we abandon ourselves,   In a floaty-dance. “I love you, Snow! Please….stay...
Post a Comment
Read more

Ashley Walks On - Nov. 2024

Image
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...
Post a Comment
Read more

They Don't Slip Away (Less than 2 min. read)

Image
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 ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Aloud to My Four Walls

Image
  (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! ...
Post a Comment
Read more