tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76161942391425327752023-11-16T10:44:28.165-04:00The Paper TeapotMaking the howl worth the noise. Writings and musings of a 21st Century Poet. Integrating emotions with integrity.Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.comBlogger426125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-74080458329481379932020-05-31T14:37:00.003-03:002020-05-31T14:37:32.034-03:00Burgers & Tunes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuyzTluAuArFg_46YuW69COWbchLp-_x0ZpJ_t9tPWfdszXP46J6w4YCiOdD1MYoTZfnn18cZ6iytQWcU5myLcVHvHxQGfsCTC_rhlaOR64TdrP0yulr102X8p5BJU29-8n8jR0MIf1cYV/s1600/burgervinyl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuyzTluAuArFg_46YuW69COWbchLp-_x0ZpJ_t9tPWfdszXP46J6w4YCiOdD1MYoTZfnn18cZ6iytQWcU5myLcVHvHxQGfsCTC_rhlaOR64TdrP0yulr102X8p5BJU29-8n8jR0MIf1cYV/s320/burgervinyl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Burgers & Tunes</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All of it. Ills and evils. A street brawl workday. An aching lower back.
A thousand tiny worries. Alleviated by the significant victory of arriving home
safely, changing into casual clothes, powering on the stereo, and firing up the
grill. No kettle tonight. Instead, a reward for the senses. An old-fashioned
glass with perfectly formed ice, one and a half ounces of Tanqueray gin, two
ounces of club soda, and a grapefruit wedge – like a good friend throwing their
arm around my shoulder. A delight! I wish that friend had been here, lounging
on a patio chair, helping connect the dots of the day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In my newly minted ‘<i>Adam Baldwin Cross Country Chin Up</i>’ tee, I initiated
the ritual. Carefully slipped the midnight shine of a vinyl record from its arty
sheath, placed lovingly on the turntable, and let the needle descend. The perfect
crackle. And then, music. Side one of Tragically Hip’s ‘<i>Fully Completely</i>’.
With the soundtrack set, the grill set it to a desired heat, I moved to the
kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From the icebox, I accumulated all the ingredients required for the
perfect burger and a fresh corn salad with scallions and basil to have
alongside. When ‘<i>Courage (For Hugh MacLennan)</i>’ faded into ‘<i>Looking for
A Place to Happen</i>’ I was ready to make the main course. In a shallow bowl I
carefully broke up the ground beef and minimal fill with my hands, careful not to
overmix. I formed a generous patty, ¾ inch thick, made a sizeable depression in
the middle with my thumb, seasoned with salt and pepper and moseyed to the
barbeque. I dispensed colorful banter with neighbors nearby while I brushed my
burger with oil and waited for the first side to turn golden brown and slightly
charred. My Dad always told me, “<i>Never press your patties when it’s grilling
unless you want a bland burger. Pressing takes all of the fat and flavor out of
the meat</i>.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am now forever a frequent
flipper instead. Gord sang me out of ‘<i>At the Hundredth Meridian</i>’ and into
‘<i>Pigeon Camera</i>’ when I popped inside to select the cheese. It is always
a toss up between swiss, old cheddar, or Havarti. I opted for old cheddar in honour
of my friend who I was deeply missing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
even made their not-so-secret sauce to garnish – mayo, ketchup, relish and
paprika all mixed in a small bowl to rest. My friend would have been pleased to
see that added touch. And I made it solely because I knew it would make them happy.
And, I like when my friends are happy. I like the things that connect us and
keep us close. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After frequents flips of the sizzling chuck, I top with cheese and duck
back inside to swap out the music. Side one of Tragically Hip for side two of
Matt Mays’ ‘<i>Twice Upon a Hell of a Time</i>’ – unplugged, always my preferred
dining vibe. When I arrived back to the barbeque, a tender, juicy, and flavorful
burger awaited me. I brought it inside, nestled the cheesy patty in a warm
brioche bun, brushed with my bud’s special sauce, and topped with smoky bacon, a
beefy tomato slice and crisp lettuce. A side of the corn salad, a gin refill
and all was right with the world. I sat to eat with a calm in my heart. Burgers
and tunes, even alone, and especially after a long week, is where its at. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I made a comment on a bud’s Facebook post about his making burgers. He’s
a mega music friend. To his post, I simply replied, “<i>Burgers and tunes</i>!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He replied, “<i>Sounds like a short story
title</i>.” I took it to heart and used it as a lazy Sunday writing exercise.
It’s likely a bit of a bore but it felt good to use the creative side of my
brain to churn out a little piece. Just to move my fingers. Some details fact,
some details fiction. As with anything, yeah?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Happy Sunday! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In propinquity, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-77388144040820812182020-04-17T16:22:00.000-03:002020-04-17T16:22:24.639-03:00He Looks Busy for a Living<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-rBZNif2N7vZU2li0yyVpo8_x9hMxrhMiwqEhhMdtMjRPbiBl3mFsDj4Do-3b467FnTh7lssg8Mfy63ZNpEy-F7hk7D1akxDRulbQW3YE0ztolotoojf2Bnm0eli0IGqHqCWAo1DkoKi/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="620" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-rBZNif2N7vZU2li0yyVpo8_x9hMxrhMiwqEhhMdtMjRPbiBl3mFsDj4Do-3b467FnTh7lssg8Mfy63ZNpEy-F7hk7D1akxDRulbQW3YE0ztolotoojf2Bnm0eli0IGqHqCWAo1DkoKi/s400/image.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">He Looks Busy for a Living</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">nevermind the permanent slump<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">the raspy ol’ fella in the
bright red <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">sweatpants & gravy stained
t-shirt<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">is the first to tell you that
he looks <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">busy for a living – Earl of Oldtown<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">can afford the luxury for all
those <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">golden years of the finger
pickin’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">storytellin’ & vodka
ginger sippin’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">that first blue archtop guitar
he got<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">straight outta the Sears
Christmas <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">catalog was the instrument
that led<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">him to write the kind of songs
folks<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">would hang themselves over
railings<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">& jump out of lazy row
boats for a <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">closer listen, for a nip of
devious wit<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">& hefty pragmatism only he
could<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">deliver – all it took was a
songbook<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">full of few chord songs with
vivid<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">human tales to make you weep,
to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">make you laugh, to make you
sing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">nevermind the permanent slump<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">the croaky ol’ troubadour who <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">invited you onto his front
porch <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">just to remind you that he is
just <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">a regular Joe who sometimes sang<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">about things people don’t talk
about<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">& when you reveal your
accolades<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">he’ll just grin and say, “<i>Aw
shucks</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">& direct your attention to
a cold <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">glass of lemonade on a wobbly rail<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was terribly sad when I saw the news online that John Prine had been
hospitalized due to Covid-19. And then, hopeful, when they said he was out of
the woods, what relief! And then, I woke to the news he’d succumbed. My heart
goes out to his family, his friends, his fellow musicians, music lovers all
over the world. I put a few words together. It’s taken this long but sometimes
that’s how it goes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">These are surreal times. I was looking forward to babies being born that
I now can’t snuggle any time soon, live shows I may not be able to attend. I
miss my friends and my family and coworkers in close proximity. I miss my life.
I’m grateful I can still do my job from home, stationed at the kitchen table
with a pesky cat friend and a snoring Mama. I’ve been home a month now and as
far as the news tells us, it’ll be weeks more. I’m lonely but appreciative.
And, I pray every single day my loved ones stay safe and healthy. And, we don’t
lose any other treasures like we lost in John Prine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-50582388289654215312020-02-20T15:56:00.001-04:002020-02-20T15:56:18.778-04:00One Last Wish<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdmsrtez_zgZHjvHxFsfpNAAnbODdyMhLkJsB_JUrMYyVsphFtSE4mE11RPKJaA85O5CqqTlMLtwQx28N44XrlL5SlJol6dTSOMtjvY1HxFj4StPgaPiAkFPzTTAMdPgOVxRZpEV301Ew/s1600/Rembrandt_Harmensz._van_Rijn_048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1364" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdmsrtez_zgZHjvHxFsfpNAAnbODdyMhLkJsB_JUrMYyVsphFtSE4mE11RPKJaA85O5CqqTlMLtwQx28N44XrlL5SlJol6dTSOMtjvY1HxFj4StPgaPiAkFPzTTAMdPgOVxRZpEV301Ew/s320/Rembrandt_Harmensz._van_Rijn_048.jpg" width="272" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">One Last Wish</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">If only I could articulate it, my one last wish. I can hear everything
they say, clear as day: <i>there’s little hope she’ll wake up; she possesses
little or no brain function</i> <i>… only a matter of time … we’ll re-evaluate in
an hour</i>. I refuse to believe that my body is a mere shell. I wish I could
scream, “<i>I’m in here! Listen to me! Don’t give up on me! Don’t let me die!</i>”
Alas, I cannot move a muscle. Or open my eyes. I am breathing with the aid of
machines that hum and hiss and make me want to spit nails, because I <i>am</i>
alive. I am <i>not</i> yet dead. I am imprisoned inside of myself and at this
point, I cannot, for the life of me, locate the escape hatch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was a freak accident, or that’s how I remember it. I <i>think</i>. I
took the bus downtown. There was a spring in my step. I was wearing a new scarf;
the sun was shining directly on my happily upturned face. <i>Finally</i>, the Rembrandt
exhibit, a mere block away! I’d been trying for <i>weeks</i> to find the time
to take it in. Between work and painting myself, there was little time left for
much else. I chastised myself. How could I not find the time to be in front of
original Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn work? The wizard of the Dutch Golden
Age of art, master of light and shadow, his tremendous legacy is the whole
reason I wanted to try my <i>own</i> hand at living an authentic artistic life.
I took generous steps, two at a time, skipped along a busy sidewalk crowded
with curmudgeons – one of them, inadvertently jabbed me with a quick elbow. I
felt myself falter. I shrieked in panic, falling quickly into oncoming traffic.
I saw a horde of hands reach out to try and pull me back. For a split second I
was gladdened, one hand clasped around my wrist, one split second of relief,
and then, for some inexplicable reason, it let go. My heart rose in fear. According
to the reports being discussed about and around me, that hand belonged to
someone who, because they stopped to help so quickly, caused a human traffic
jam behind them, and was forcefully struck, thwarting my almost-rescue. After
that, for me – fade to black, never mind Rembrandt’s <i>Self Portrait with Beret
and Turned-Up Collar</i> to ogle in awe. Laid vulnerable in a hospital bed,
with the knowledge that at any given moment my loved ones would be encouraged
to pull the plug, I couldn’t help but wonder, once I broke on through to the
other side, if my artistic mentor would at the very least, show me the kind of
mercy he’d never show himself in portrait. If he were to commit this sudden and
unfortunate wreck to canvas, would I be treated to the exact pale I deserve? Or
would he spare me the agony? Would you hear the death rattle in the brilliant
strokes of his brush while he cloaked me in a non-descript hospital gown while
my loved ones, weak in the knees, wailed bereft, at the tragic loss of me? It
isn’t <i>inconceivable</i>. The Dutch masters tended to paint everyday ordinary
life instead of sprawling biblical or military scenes commissioned by church or
aristocracy. I am a plain girl in a grey room supposedly fighting for every
breath – how much more ordinary can you get!? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then, who the heck am I, to believe a
master painter would find me a fitting subject. I’m arrogant in my current
condition, one doth think, no? I say, a girl can dream. And, it’s a good dream
– to be the subject of accessible, famous art. Even better than someone writing
a song about you, which comes in at a close second.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was my sweet mother, choking on her tears, knees buckling from
underneath her, her tiny hands wringing mine, literally squeezing the life out
of me. It took her in a million little pieces and a vital machine threatening
to flatline, to comprehend. I was no longer in the bed. I was <i>above</i>,
floating, hovering, witnessing my own demise. There I was, no longer inhabiting
my body, my corporeal vessel, the flesh I dressed and cared for, close to
thirty years, hovering above it all, making temporary contact with a water
stained ceiling tile, sorting out what comes next. After a bit of time passed,
I don’t know how long it was, my brother escorted my grief-stricken mother from
the room. I watched them exit, almost in slow motion, move further and further
away from me. And, suddenly I was alone with myself. I couldn’t help but
wonder, while gazing upon the paleness of my usually rosy cheeks, who might be
saved from my misfortune. The only function of the machines still drumming were
to keep my organs viable. Would my dull blue eyes give someone the brilliant
gift of sight? Would my young healthy heart, beat in another’s chest? Or maybe
skin to soothe a burn victim. I donated it all. And then, what’s left, they’ll
give to my family, in an ornate urn of some sort (I hope) so they might have a
little closure. I feel deep guilt leaving them in such a quick and tragic way,
but I didn’t advocate or expect such an early expiration. I had plans! First,
my mother’s birthday dinner next week, where while seeing the exhibit I had
hoped to acquire a unique present of some sort in the museum’s gift shop. I oversaw
the gift and her cake. The gift I can’t do much about, but her cake is ordered
and scheduled for delivery on the day. It’ll make her cry, posthumous
confections from her dearly departed favorite daughter. I wish I could get word
to my brother to intercept but I wanted it to be a surprise. A cake delicately
decorated and airbrushed with memory photos of her life. Pecan crunch with
butter cream icing, her favorite. What else? What other plans … oh! Istanbul.
In five years. Or bust. I was also flirting with the idea of cutting my hair
that has been halfway down my back for as long as I can remember to something daring,
like a pixie cut or a short-inverted bob. Maybe give it a bold shock of color.
I promised myself after a rather debilitating break-up that I’d live inside of
every moment, push my crayons to shade <i>outside</i> the lines. Taste food not
just chew it quickly to swallow it down. Relish the flavors and textures. I
made a vow to myself to feel, to savor everything, take pause, enjoy. And now
this. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My mother and brother were not yet settled in the car when I
propositioned God. Asked for a favor. One last wish, the one I did not think I
could articulate. Before I embark on whatever predestined plan was set for me,
could I please just see one original Rembrandt? The request seemed trivial all
things considered but given that I have no idea where I was going or what will
transpire, the momentary joy of standing before an original painting by someone
I deeply admire seemed like an even trade. You know what? It worked, albeit
granted with an ironic twist which confirms God has a decent sense of humour or
is outwardly arrogant. Or, perhaps a little of both. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I found myself, just as I was before the accident, agile and enthused
with the same spring in my step, my favorite scarf on display and a happy face
forward, studying a real live Rembrandt, <i>Head of Christ</i>. I don’t know
where in the world I was. Berlin. Paris. Destination unknown. But, the
painting. Breathtaking. 1648. The romantic head of Jesus, slightly inclined,
long dark curls, short full beard, in a reddish-brown cloak. Noble and pensive.
If my heart was still inside of my chest, it would have raced, fast and furious.
His features are nothing to mistrust. They calmed my newly minted soul. Someone
directly connected to Rembrandt’s piece was receptive to my prayer, it was no
accident to arrive before this exact rendering. A stark reminder that in life,
there is a reason we worship beautiful things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I pecked at this wee piece for a little bit. It was a writing prompt, I
executed it with a twist: write a scene or story that includes a character fulfilling
their or someone else’s last wish. I started writing without even knowing where
I was going with it. The idea just ran with me. It was another exercise just to
keep my fingers moving, to maintain my meandered thinking. I don’t know if this
is interesting or if anyone will enjoy it, but I liked writing it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Any thoughts are welcome.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-36243842035349481862020-02-03T12:47:00.002-04:002020-02-03T12:47:40.721-04:00Bingo Bags<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzCgacOoqqfH8h2FzdS-wer1Tq-O315wkoKiRpWkqTtZlvoHHGZdU9ROlfdxvynLSG86NfnS5t__scpmmYifNlAqtNNbQmbt_bvmieMbmqS4XjV5kFR0FX8HsSiecr8wCYgaop3nrnrn1/s1600/Bingohall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzCgacOoqqfH8h2FzdS-wer1Tq-O315wkoKiRpWkqTtZlvoHHGZdU9ROlfdxvynLSG86NfnS5t__scpmmYifNlAqtNNbQmbt_bvmieMbmqS4XjV5kFR0FX8HsSiecr8wCYgaop3nrnrn1/s320/Bingohall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Bingo
Bags<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Saturday
night, a 1980s bingo hall.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The noxious
cloud cover of cigarette smolder was already imminent when Tibs and Millie
approached their usual Saturday night seats armed with bingo cards and over-sized
over-the-shoulder purses teeming with colorful dabbers, ice cold Coke, and
salty snacks. Gertie was already seated, cards organized in front of her,
puffing Cameos, her sweaty can of Sprite in its right place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Early
bird catches the worm, wha? Awful early, you shit the bed or something?</i>”
Tibs opened, plunking her wide arse down on the bright orange unstable chair. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie’s
lanky face coiled into an instant blush, “<i>No, I ain’t shittin’ no beds.
Cyril had darts and made a big friggin’ fuss about me always making him late,
so he dropped me early to the bingo</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs chuckled,
“<i>In such a hurry you forgot to crack them curlers out, wha?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie
touched her kerchiefed head in a panic, “<i>Sufferin’ Moses, Andy!! Lucky my
head is attached on this ol’ body or I mighta forgotten that too.</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Millie’s
chair scraped loud on the grimy tiled floor scooting her chair in closer to the
table with the might of her wide girth, “<i>Why didn’t cha call me, coulda
swung by and picked ya up. I had to get Tibs anyhow</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie
waved her thin hand, “<i>No matter, thought it best to come and save our seats
since them there idiots tried to hork ‘em last week</i>.” Gertie threw a
thwarted nod to a motley crew several tables down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs
scoffed, “<i>Buncha turds. We’ve only been sittin’ here for wha, a million
years!? Like to see ‘em try again.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s as
if the Head Turd heard Tibs’ jeer. She fixed her eyes on the trio and
straightened her lean to move her faded orange mop and blotchy face toward
them, “<i>If it ain’t the Get Along Gang back for another week, hoardin’ the
lucky seats</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Not one
for confrontation, Gertie’s face, looking smaller than it is with her head full
of rollers, turned beet red. She looked away, taking a nervous drag off her
menthol. Tibs, about to rise and meet the Head Turd’s antagonizing gaze was
stopped by the gentle hand of Millie, who calmly regarded the intrusion, “<i>Ain’t
got nothing ta do with luck, you know that. It’s alll chance</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Head
Turd cleared her throat, “<i>That so? Well, maybe one a’ ya might lend out that
horseshoe ya got jammed up your collective arse. Give the rest of us a “chance”
at winnin’ a god damn game once in a while</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Millie offered
a pregnant pause, “<i>Ya … nah</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That sent Head Turd, agitated,
shuffling back to her gaggle. Tibs let out a howl and high-fived Millie, “<i>Hooligans
ain’t takin’ no foolishness, wha! Ha!</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Millie snorted, “<i>That bunch there
reminds me of them things the grandbabies like, Garbage Patch Kids. Spit right
outta their mouth!</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie shook
her head and put her cigarette out in a clean ashtray, “<i>Let’s play already,
frig</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Without
a game having started, Tibs’ voice filled the smoke hall, “<i>Bingo, wha</i>!”
her enthusiasm was met with a collective smatter of, “<i>Shaddap</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
trinity got busy at their specials, concentrating on the win. Gertie’s goal of
the evening, as it was every Saturday night, was to fill her whole card and win
the Bonanza. Tibs took it home the weekend before and the weekend before that,
Millie won. So, Gertie was hoping the winning streak would continue with her
tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs,
aggressively dabbed her bingo books, dangerously close to winning a game by
coloring in around the FREE asked, “<i>We gettin’ donairs tonight if we win,
wha?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Millie
confidently replied, “<i>Ain’t if, Tibs. It’s when</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie
turned up her nose, “<i>Ain’t there anything else we can eat? Donairs give me
some god-awful gas and I ain’t in no mood listen to all the goin’ on Cyril will
do, especially after darts when he’s half frisky</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs cracked
up, “<i>Two of ya need separate bedrooms. Works out good for me ‘n’ Dickie. He
snores like a sombitch and I need my beauty sleep. Plus, we gave up tryin’ ta
knock boots. All we bang anymore is bellies</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie
closed her eyes and shook her head, “<i>Now ain’t that an appealin’ mental
picture. Lord Christ, Tibs</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs
shrugged with a hearty laugh, “<i>Either that or D.I.V.O.R.C.E</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>I
like my single livin’</i>,” Millie interjected, “<i>I can pass gas all the live
long day and ain’t no one gonna give me no guff</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Explains
why that tabby cat of yours disappears for days on end. Can cats even hold
their breath?</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
three friends laughed so hard half of their table missed the caller yell out,
B5. Millie dabbed her book like a bat out of hell, “<i>BINGO</i>!” Shortly
thereafter she was fanning herself with a fist full of twenty-dollar bills, “<i>Gonna
be an exxxxtra-large donair night tonight, ladies</i>!” Tibs did her signature silly-arms-pumping
happy chair dance while Gertie rolled her eyes internally knowing full well,
she’d indulge despite her husband’s inevitable scorn. And, what the hell, she
still had her rollers in. Cyril won’t have anything to do with those suckers
wound tight on top of her pretty head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">During
a break between games, the friends started to reminisce. Head Turd and her
posse assaulted the canteen for the last of the greasy burgers, the trio stayed
seated like they always did, for fear someone might steal their seats right out
from under them, not that they were territorial or anything. Millie ripped open
a bag of Ketchup chips and began, “<i>I miss when Gertie’s Nan still came to
the bingo with us. Eighty-four years old, sneakin’ nips of gin in her Sprite
cans, remember that</i>?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs,
with a hunk of Oh Henry in her mouth said, “<i>Oh, I miss me some Nanny Mona,
she was a friggin’ hoot, wha. Little bugger was always walkin’ off with my pink
dabbers, only ones she could see good</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie
nodded, “<i>Wasn’t so funny though when she finally lost all her hearin’ and
yelled Bingo on the Bonanza and never had one god damn number that was called,
remember that!?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Millie’s
eyes went wide, “<i>How could ya forget that!? Lil ‘ol bitty near started a
riot in the bingo hall! She was some sweet though</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs
banged her meaty paw on the wobbly table in a fit of remembrance almost
knocking the open Cokes over, “<i>Remember that feller, stayed with the
what’s-their-nuggets up the road there by the store!? Went and streaked bare
arse naked right up through the bingo hall, in a Jesus snowstorm no less! From
the front door right on down the back</i>!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Millie
all but keeled over wiping tears from her eyes, wheezing, “<i>Oh my gentle
Jesus yes! Drunk as a god damn skunk he was. Ain’t ever gonna forget that pasty
white flat-as-a-pancake arse</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie,
characteristically, shook her head full of wonky curlers, “<i>Didn’t have a
whole bunch goin’ on in the front either</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs
and Millie said in unison, “<i>Bush whacker!”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
three friends laughed so hard the caller sternly requested, in the microphone,
they simmer down. This, to be clear, was not an isolated incident. It was,
however, enough to settle their kettles enough to focus on the task at hand,
winning bingo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was
a tense night of bingo. Millie won a few cards, Tibs won a few and now it was
Gertie’s turn. Gertie and Head Turd were set for the Bonanza. Gertie, waiting
on N46, Head Turd holding out for O75. Millie, completely out of character
started to pray, the more the sweat gathered on Gertie’s top lip, the harder
she implored to the good Lord Jesus for her friend to cash in even though she
knew it unholy to muse on a sort of gamble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
caller announced, “<i>O74 …</i>”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Head
Turd cursed, “<i>Come awwwwwwn</i>!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The caller
called out the next number, “<i>B10 …</i>” Head Turd growled, Gertie’s nervous
frame started to rock back and forth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
caller called out the next number, “<i>N … 46 …</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Millie
and Tibs called it at the same time, “<i>BINGO</i>!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Head Turd
wailed, “<i>God dammit</i>!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie,
wide eyed, looked at her friends, “<i>Cheese and crackers, did I just go and
win the friggin’ Bonanza</i>!?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs
gave her friend a fat slap on her lean back, “<i>Donairs gonna be on you now,
wha?!</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie
laughed, “<i>Heck sure, but we ain’t eatin’ them at my place! Rather Cyril
didn’t know I got any extra in my pocket</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Millie
piped up, “<i>Come on girls, let’s get us some food and scarf ‘er down at my
place</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie
nodded, “<i>Done deal</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Crowded
around Millie’s single woman’s small kitchen table, the friends inhaled their
meaty nibbles – thick slices of spiced beef on warm pita bread, topped with
generous chunks of onion and tomato, then drizzled with the Donair’s signature
sweet garlicy sauce which inevitably ended up dripping from their fingers and
faces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs
broke the snack silence, “<i>Ain’t even sure what I love more, Donairs or
eatin’ them with y’all.</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Millie
concurred, “<i>Don’t even taste the same if I ain’t eatin’ them with you guys</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie
sipped a fresh Sprite, “<i>All that stuff is true for sure, I just love winnin’
a wad of money</i>. <i>I ain’t gotta job like you two. Cyril only gives me
enough enough allowance for the bingo</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs
scoffed, wiping her chin with a napkin, “<i>Well frig you too then, wha</i>!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie
rolled her eyes, “<i>Don’t go twistin’ the words comin’ outta my mouth, Tibs.
I’m just sayin’, all of it, goin’ to the Bingo, winnin’, havin’ donairs like
this here, well, it’s what I most look forward to. ‘Cause, Millie ‘n’ you, well,
you’re my best friends. I ain’t ever had friends like y’all before I moved
here. I appreciate yas</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Millie
smiled, reached and gave Gertie’s shoulder a warm friendly rub in agreement.
Tibs hung her head, “<i>Well shit</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gertie
replied, “<i>It’s all good, Tibs</i>. <i>I know you ain’t got a lotta time for
feelins and all</i>. <i>I ain’t never learned now to not be so damn sensitive</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tibs
looked up at her friend, “<i>Oh, ain’t that. I just dropped a pound a’ the
sauce down in my titties. Pass me that there napkin will ya</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ve been plucking
away at this snapshot for what feels like eons. It isn’t meant to be long, more
like, (as with everything these days), a writing exercise. Just to keep my imagination
and my fingers moving. No pretensions here. A few chuckles maybe, but all in
fun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If you took a
second to read, thank you. I hope you had fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-23370077500283785482020-01-13T12:50:00.002-04:002020-01-13T12:50:23.083-04:00Luftmensch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAxNKeXzqwu_UxQzrbdKaMxVO2IGrxbOJ2Ln9ggphfvrP1qnuA-OdCGT9IPuUpmyN5Ly7xOG9qoSg_d1IWnL0LzOJbh3Of6UWwUkGLvkJ0prDYh6Cq30r0LixODyFd2LrG46ddJymeefC/s1600/clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAxNKeXzqwu_UxQzrbdKaMxVO2IGrxbOJ2Ln9ggphfvrP1qnuA-OdCGT9IPuUpmyN5Ly7xOG9qoSg_d1IWnL0LzOJbh3Of6UWwUkGLvkJ0prDYh6Cq30r0LixODyFd2LrG46ddJymeefC/s320/clouds.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Luftmensch</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">if he <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">had two cents to rub together<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">he wouldn’t know what to do <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">but ask him about his long
list<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">of embellished yearnings and <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">witness his empty head rise up<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">and through the billowy clouds<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>the songs he could sing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I thought about this word my whole morning commute. I noted it some time
ago and happened upon it while packing things in my work bag. It was scratched
on a wrinkled piece of paper. If it’d been left unattended at the bottom of my
things, it may not have survived much longer in a receipt purge. I’m grateful
to have found it. I’m grateful it helped me deliver this small verse. It felt
good to put words together after attending two funerals in the span of a week.
Being able to create something, even as miniscule as the above poem, did my
heart good. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To increase my spirit, which has been lacking a great deal for some time
it seems, I have set out on a new, slightly humorous piece of short fiction. I’m
confident this little adventure will add levity to my days. It’s all scribble
and notes for the moment but I shall endeavor to mold it into an enjoyable (I
hope) read/escape. I may call on a few of you for select details! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Happy Monday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-76546006295251645432020-01-02T15:20:00.000-04:002020-01-02T15:20:10.654-04:00If I Were Brautigan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuW22Lxz-8k7iQtUOX2fgEVm1PMrFBjMvg4Ivh9oCBgQ57yPLHn2YtrWEwGYk8AHEQvRNlXJCBxhDH7Ru-aRGuTZmtsKWnl_9mfKqSoh6jp-zCUYGoNRKDpYDUSLf8sQEhUobi9__Zcoz1/s1600/richard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="620" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuW22Lxz-8k7iQtUOX2fgEVm1PMrFBjMvg4Ivh9oCBgQ57yPLHn2YtrWEwGYk8AHEQvRNlXJCBxhDH7Ru-aRGuTZmtsKWnl_9mfKqSoh6jp-zCUYGoNRKDpYDUSLf8sQEhUobi9__Zcoz1/s400/richard.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-small;">Brautigan, San Franciso 1965</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">If
I Were Brautigan</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>if I were<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Richard
Brautigan <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’d
be penniless &<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">drunk
on watermelon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>sugar<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">in
some warm giddy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">bar
w/ optimistically <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">wrecked
poets<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>if he had been <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">he’d
admire some man &<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
casual way he tipped<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">back
a can of Coca Cola<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">before
moseying toward<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">December<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">through
an <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">impenetrable
paisley fog<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">if
I were<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Richard
Brautigan<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’d
be published &<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">contented
to succumb<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">in
a haphazard bodega<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">dying
of thirst<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>& a ripe peach<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">in
plain sight<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A poem, my first in 2020, from a writing prompt. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Here goes nothing, a new year. New words.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic</span></div>
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-small;"></span></b>Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-54485659792353531802019-12-30T15:14:00.003-04:002020-01-24T06:44:32.247-04:00My Most Judgmental<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipHcRRelQNcMnsNwgKTJDBhyxl1319KBVcM6iecmVRBFUYusowmETLV-wdjWIQsWSpguWh7SbNUOTDWm-tFOH6Lt98UVtDpPg1rTA-8y_l4o1ckeCv-6cLOGrjC4yhRxoz-O2AshS-ASm3/s1600/ohok.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipHcRRelQNcMnsNwgKTJDBhyxl1319KBVcM6iecmVRBFUYusowmETLV-wdjWIQsWSpguWh7SbNUOTDWm-tFOH6Lt98UVtDpPg1rTA-8y_l4o1ckeCv-6cLOGrjC4yhRxoz-O2AshS-ASm3/s320/ohok.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>My
Most Judgmental</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">for
the briefest of moments<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">my
most <i>Judgmental</i> reared<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">her
swollen head to purport<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">my
beloved night-singing <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">has
gone out of fashion so I <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">ought
to go on & give it up<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">this
from a <i>would-be</i> stargazer <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">whose
stagy bark never quite <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">matches
that of her <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">aggrandized bite <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">there
is something so off-key<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">about
my most <i>Judgmental</i> of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">late
… off-putting even, callous<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">enough
to secretly bid her to <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">float
upward just so she might <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">fall
(<i>for once</i>), wicked a wish<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
know … dangerously akin to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
desires that twist inside her<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I shall endeavor to be<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">unlike
those like her who are <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">scattered
& lost, destined for <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">ruins
… not for merit but for <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
shrill music that plays in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">&
around their blindest eyes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">whose
smile loses shape for<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">every
wound doled out on a<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">loving
heart who loves to sing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">just
to be closer to Heaven<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I shall endeavor to be<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">better</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> … she believes I
am so<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">easy
to abolish, my most <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><i>Judgmental</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">but
I’ll still sing high above <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">her
scarred mountaintops in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">direct
light of the sun, every<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">word
finessed to ease … ease<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">whatever
& whomever may <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">require
calm … even my most<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Judgmental
</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">–
who may be made<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">warm
enough by the melody’s <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">sweet
persuasion to take pause<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">&
weep for all the things stated<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">that
cannot be taken back<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I overheard a conversation on my commute this
morning that inspired this poem, with a little real life thrown in for good
measure. The sentiment is universal, and you can take it any which way you
like. It isn’t so much about a person but rather a feeling. Perhaps it’d be
different for the person whose conversation I stole to create it, I’m certain
it’d be someone <i>very</i> specific. It isn’t exactly the most optimistic poem
to end out a year of scattered writing, devout reading, and a gaggle of ups and
downs. And then there was Elizabeth Gilbert. Workshopping with her saved me in
more ways than I can express. It’s why the poem above still sings despite it
all. I’ve learned a great deal of what it means to be your most avid supporter.
And in that, there’s no more chasing people, only dreams. I’m cool with being on
the fringe of circles I no longer belong. I’m cool with aloneness. I’m cool
with my own company. I’m cool with my fears and my enchantments. I’m cool with
how to face it all, and that’s with my head held high, a smile in my heart, and
contentment on my face. I will never pretend the bruises don’t hurt. I am just
more equipped, for reals, for how to deal with them. It was the greatest gift
of my life. You always think you know and then you realize you don’t. Until you
do. And, when you do. There’s no other way, but You. Your way. And, how you put
love and goodness into the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That’s all I’ve got going into a new year.
No resolutions except to say I welcome whatever it is that comes my way. I’ve
got the tools and I ain’t afraid to use ‘em!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Wishing you a happy and prosperous 2020!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-72907940546951433832019-12-16T15:57:00.000-04:002019-12-16T14:23:08.497-04:00Bat Kol<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieOeiWNRLri2alp8fFHhwjrdMOCpgP1HW-pbUL_S8JUgEmQOwsGFR1kJNNHqFBojHYGrcBsWPH1AsYnR1lViLkQn9BQufgFmZfjpyfFV-_8u6yIVaDY4KHaugD3IGlR7lxFs1nZVpaImA6/s1600/2016-11-12_Leonard_Cohen_Parc_du_Portugal_Montreal_%252830927918346%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1177" data-original-width="1600" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieOeiWNRLri2alp8fFHhwjrdMOCpgP1HW-pbUL_S8JUgEmQOwsGFR1kJNNHqFBojHYGrcBsWPH1AsYnR1lViLkQn9BQufgFmZfjpyfFV-_8u6yIVaDY4KHaugD3IGlR7lxFs1nZVpaImA6/s320/2016-11-12_Leonard_Cohen_Parc_du_Portugal_Montreal_%252830927918346%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Bat Kol</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">What’s that
exquisite word I’m looking for? Ah yes, <i>pococurante</i>. I am not the least
bit galled when confronted with the level of <i>accused</i> pretension my
pilgrimage garnered. It matters very little to me what others think of my
packing a small bag and setting off for Montreal, Little Portugal to be
precise, in honour of an artist that filled my creative life with <i>bourne</i>,
charging the boundless aim of my capabilities. My trip, despite being in search
of an idol’s final resting place, denotes a sublimely joyful and peaceable moment
in time. What’s that other delicious word? The one to perfectly ascribe to the
trek. Ah yes, <i>halcyon</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Prior to my
departure, I fell bored. Begrudgingly succumbing to the monotonous humdrum of
waking each morning, toiling nine to five then returning home to meticulously dust
bookcases. All of which are in perfect authorial alphabetical order. Creative
pursuits were devilishly evasive, my appetite nil, my heart unfulfilled. It was
a deep internet dive that inspired my mission. I arrived, after hours of
mindless perusing, to a link hosted by CBC. It answered an unplanned prayer.
The remedy to my malaise: <i>time away</i>. A quiet retreat. To fill the well. Browse,
on foot, by way of a detailed walking tour of the earthly place a beloved and
fallen artist lovingly called home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I arrived in
Montreal on an amiable flight, early dawn, an autumn morning. The cloying sun offered
the city a clandestine suppleness, just before it was fully awake, and the
avenues filled with bustle. I hailed a taxi to my accommodations, a charming
Air B&B, spacious and bright with a private terrace. Austere with a hint of
whimsy. Perfection. It suited my needs. A place to lay my hat, and a desk for
writing. First order of business, coffee. Something to go with the fig-cheddar
bun I purchased from a hide-away bakery for breakfast en route. The sleek galley
kitchen housed a Nespresso machine. It was good in a pinch before my adventure’s
official start.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That first day,
ah, magnificent. One foot in front of the other, my scarf knotted ardently
around my neck. Mine eyes feasted. Mine lungs exorcised by fall’s crisp waft,
taking long languid breaths to exhale lazily. All at once, I felt airy and
parched. I ducked inside a little bistro for a nip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I chose a window seat, atop a narrow yet
sturdy pew, and sipped a concoction made of tequila, Cointreau, agave syrup,
lime, orange, and citrus salt. One glass. Two. I drank. I mused. And, because I
imbibed, hunger struck. I lingered to indulge. Fresh oysters served with
mignonette, michelada, and chamoy. And then, with a warm belly, I was off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Quincaillerie
Azores’ was a frequent haunt for the fallen. I stood inside and wondered what sundry
things might line a receipt deep into the silk of his jacket pocket: hand-held
tools, keys, locks, fasteners, hinges, clamps, thimbles, chains, utensils,
plumbing provisions, paint cans, paint brushes, housewares? The possibilities
endless, and then the wonder of what he’d do with his purchase, what he fixed
or created or threw in a drawer for a later date. My imagination, rampant in
that moment. The walking map was correct when it boasted the corner store rife
with hardware, had a generous assortment of Portuguese earthenware. To preserve
my visit, I bought a small piece to carry home and place as a memento on the
bookcase housing works by writers whose last names begin with C. A small
ornamental bowl, I knew would eventually fill up with pocket change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I intended to pass
by his homestead at the <i>end</i> of my visit as an official bon voyage and a <i>thanks
for the dance</i> nod, but I found myself unable to delay. I stopped, awed, in
front of his residence, 28 Rue de Vallieres. A single tear dropped and rested
on my cool cheek. I envisioned the grey limestone, that sorrowful November day,
converted into a place of worship, muted candles, heaps of fresh flowers, and
mournful messages mounting in commemoration. I took refuge in Parc du Portugal
across the street. Found a sturdy bench to sit and reflect. It has been said he
preferred comfortable slippers as shoes. How many times had he tread across
these pathways, scuffing toward any given Glory? Sitting to work out the poetic
mechanics of gentle soliloquies full of dark humility, glorious works he left
behind. The simple brilliance of the reverie swelled an emotional lump in my
throat. Still, in the shadow of his genius, a tremendous blessing. The bench
was the edge of the earth. I lost track of time there. A park forged to
commemorate Portuguese immigrants in search of a new life. I took several
photos of the quaint summer pavilion, and of the gates and fountains comprised
of glamorous glazed tiles. I had a nagging desire to stay but my physical
hunger championed inactivity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For dinner, as per
the walking tour map, I sidled into Moishe’s Steakhouse. According to local lure,
it’s a Montreal institution. The meal I enjoyed cost almost as much as a
night’s stay at my Air B&B. Alas, it <i>had</i> to be part of itinerary, so
I did not deviate nor dissuade myself by worrying about vacation economics. As
there were so many to choose from on the extensive wine list, I asked my server
to surprise me, something red. He did not disappoint. There were hints of rich
chocolate and deep plum. I sat languorously, legs crossed with a crisp napkin
across my lap so as not to spill the delivered hors d’oeuvre, succulent shrimp
cocktail, on my wool slacks. A steakhouse it was but I am not one for red meat,
so I opted for Alaskan Black Cod with grilled oyster mushrooms, spinach, and
potato latkes. Sinfully delicious. While I digested both my meal and my
surroundings, I nursed a hellishly fragrant cup of coffee. The scene then
begged for the accompaniment of a cigar. One that would impart a creamy,
buttery flavor with notes of cocoa, wood, and toasted bread. I had one such
after a poetry reading with friends. The memory of its slow burn and deliberate
upward smoke curl, made my mouth water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I shuffled back to
my Air B&B, feeling abundant and melancholic. Inside, I shrugged off the
coldness that infiltrated the evening’s wind, hung my hat, and sat at the desk
to write. Wholly inspired by the day. This is the poem that materialized before
I retired for the evening:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">All
Possible Calm<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I mulled <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">gazing
the skylight <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">all
hours I gathered <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">&
steadied myself<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">elegant
<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">& intent<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">pen
poised <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">notebook
open <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">page
blank <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">in
all possible calm<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">determined<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">to
compose a<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">dust <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">jacket
proclamation<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">worthy
of discussing<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">with
you over wine<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">in
a five-star hotel bar<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">for
first rate writers<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>shy to admit I <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">require
your sublime <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">assurance
before I am <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">able
to write another <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>word<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I awoke with
purpose. Sunrise lush and radiant with autumn’s gilded palette. The city
enveloped me as one of its own the second my black patent shoes clipped the
sidewalk stone. It was too late for breakfast, too early for lunch, so I acceded
to the lure of decadent confections. An extravagant storefront display enticed
me in with the pledge of sugar. It did not disappoint although it took far
longer than it should have to choose. I, in the end, opted for a generous share
of grapefruit pistachio layer cake. It towered sumptuously over the
mille-feuilles and eclairs, tasted twice as good. I required something of heft in
my belly before finding my way to Mt. Royal Boulevard to Shaar Hashomayim
Congregation Cemetery; the final resting place of my idol, the sole intent for my
excursion. I found myself stood before a handsome stone, befit for a mensch. A
visitor before me placed an impeccable bushel of mini mums in esteem, a
beautiful cushion of seasonal colors in shades of deep red, burnt orange, vivid
yellow, pallid peach, and snow white. I knelt, in respect for the man inside of
the earth, buried humbly in an unadorned pine box close to family, laid to rest
in a traditional Jewish rite. From my pocket, I pulled out a prayer in the form
of one of his very own poems. One, I hope, wherever in the vastness of the
universe his enlightened spirit roamed, he stopped to hear. Paused to smile at
my offering:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
lost my way.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
forgot to call your name.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
raw heartbeat against the world<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
the tears were for my lost victory.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But,
you are here. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">you
have always been here.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
world is all-forgetting,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
the heart is a rage of directions,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">but
your name unifies the heart,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
the world is lifted up into its place.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Blessed
is the one who waits in the<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">travelers
heart for his turning.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">O, I wept. I
guarded my inexorable tears with my chin tucked into my chest, the wide brim of
my hat tugged tight enough to protect mine eyes. I could not linger; I was
overcome with emotion. I did not expect to be taken over in such a deep and profound
way. And so, I bid him adieu. Regretfully. I just couldn’t bear the thought of
being found on bended knee, bawling like a baby. I required comfort. Food of
some sort. Something of <i>note</i>. I took the advice of a passerby to take a
late lunch at Schwartz’s, the oldest deli in Canada. I hailed a taxi to the famed
Montreal landmark since 1928. The passerby alerted me that I may have to wait
in line for an extended period of time to be served but I walked straight in,
took a seat at the counter, and before I knew it, there was a towering smoked
meat sandwich teetering in front of me complete with a gargantuan dill pickle
and heaping dish of coleslaw. Between doleful sips of Coke and bites of lunch, I
continued to flick rogue tears from mine eyes before they had cause to fall. He
is in every atom of the city. Every breath of air. And what’s more, while I
paid the kind folk for their abundance, ‘<i>So Long Marianne</i>’ sounded on
the radio. One of my fellow white-haired counter patrons perked up at the song.
His shoulders straightened, a smile formed, and between bites of his meal, he hummed
along to the treasured lyrics. Proudly. A purr of honour. It wasn’t too long
after, I was back at my Air B&B, equal parts full of food and flounder. I
dove under the covers for a siesta. Rest was necessary to regain my composure
for an evening of live music. I hoped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I arose after only
an hour or so, had a long shower, ironed my favorite shirt, dressed in my
finest outfit and hopped into a taxi. In very broken French, asked the driver
where I might find a bit of good live music. He replied in English blanketed it
with a thick French strum, “<i>I know jus’ ze place! You will need to wear your
coat though.</i>” He let me off in front of Jardin Nelson, a few days shy of
closing for winter. A seasonal garden style bistro-type spot. Like nothing I’ve
ever seen. I was in the mood for a hot drink and rhythmic jazz and ended up
with a pitcher of melon sangria and a meal I won’t soon forget. Jackfruit Poke.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Green jackfruit, marinated in spicy
sesame and soy sauce, with avocado, edamame beans, cucumber, lettuce, jasmine
rice, vegetables, nori, wakame, gari, spicy vegan mayo, and peas – a direct
quote from their menu. I wrote it down on a scrap of paper for blogging
purposes. I first chose the brie fondue with pesto and pine nuts, then changed
my mind to the duck leg confit but I have a soft spot for jackfruit. It was
divine. I missed out on the jazz trio. They were late for their gig and my
hands started to go numb from the cool temps and the sangria. Tipsy, I stumbled
out onto the street in search anything else. A busker, a dead ringer for a
young Tom Waits, with his battered guitar case open and a spray of pocket
change across the fuzzy purple interior asked if I had any requests. “<i>First
We Take Manhattan</i>”, I cooed, the scent of melon wafting from my tongue. Tom
Waits grinned, “<i>Ooo la la, Monsieur Cohen, ah?</i>” He leaned closer, “<i>Don’t
tell anyone … but I prefer version Jennifer Warrens do</i>.” And with that, he
broke into song. I joined tentatively at first, but the liquor found its way to
all of my cortexes and soon my voice was soaring with his in unison, “<i>I’m
guided by a signal in the Heavens/I’m guided by this birthmark on my skin/I’m
guided by the beauty of our weapons/First we take Manhattan, then we take
Berlin …</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I woke the <i>next</i>
morning with no knowledge of how I made it back to my Air B&B. My head,
akin to a kick drum sufficiently rocked, threatened to roll. I accosted the
Nespresso machine as if we the last thing I’d ever do. I sat out on the private
terrace, overlooking the sweep of the city, mid-morning, balled up in a bulky sweater,
and sipped. The fresh air slowly started to make me feel more human than human.
As the cobwebs cleared, so did my memory. My recall revealed an extended
performance with Tom Waits – Dylan’s ‘<i>Like A Rolling Stone</i>’, Bowie’s ‘<i>Heroes</i>’,
anyone’s version of ‘<i>Stand by Me</i>’, Morrison’s ‘<i>Brown Eyed Girl</i>’. It
all came flooding back. My customary posturing did not prevail. I,
uncharacteristically, let loose, as they say. That <i>had</i> to be remedied.
It is not that I’d ever see Tom Waits again so my perfected reputation was not
in peril, it’s the simple fact I allowed my very tailored and restrained self
to run amok. I confess, it felt extraordinary. Alas, I feel more comfortable in
my skin buttoned up and discreet. Reserve. Ostentatious. Thus, on my last day
in Montreal city, I bent back into my true self, and set off for home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My morning flight
was delayed so after a quick stop for a few extra cups of coffee, and osso
bucco breakfast poutine with cheddar biscuits, I spent the rest of my wait at
the Montreal Holocaust Museum. I was quite taken with Edith Gluck’s story. She
donated an object of note in 2010, what is titled ‘<i>A Clandestine Cookbook</i>’.
During her imprisonment in the Lippstadt concentration camp in Germany, she
compiled two hundred recipes, all written in pencil on beige and pink paper
that came from the munitions factory she forced to work in 12 hours per day. From
memory she recorded many of the meals she prepared before the war and called on
her fellow inmates to contribute. Together, they used this act of resistance to
maintain their humanity and preserve their cultural history. The booklet,
written in Hungarian, bound together with orange thread also from the factory,
had to be hidden under the ground. And, since it was written in Hungarian, if
found by the German soldiers, it would be deemed a diary and elicit a severe
beating. Her bold efforts took my breath away. I stared at the aged pages for a
long time, imagining these brave women whispering ingredients and instructions
to Edith who scratched them quietly into the pilfered paper. A guide called
Vilma in the museum shared the most horrendous fact, music was used to admonish
prisoners. Nazis consistently directed captives to sing while marching or
exercising. It was done as to mock, humiliate, and discipline. Inmates who
dared disobey or didn’t know the song demanded only gave the SS an excuse for
severe arbitrary lashings. Vilma told me, “<i>If you did not know song, beaten.
If you sang too soft, beaten. If you sang too loud, beaten. SS, ack, savages!</i>”
Luckily, the conversation ended on a positive note. Vilma, while straightening
her name tag on the lapel of her tweed coat told me, “<i>As you well know from
Edith’s book, the prisoners were resourceful. They also composed and performed
songs written inside of the camps, a survival technique as a means of
psychological resistance, you see. Music then, was a means of survival and an
instrument of terror for the SS. Some good, but mostly bad.</i>” In that
instant, I knew the second I arrived home, I’d order everything Amazon sold
about this dreadful period of history. More knowledge, necessary. I became
transfixed with their very human stories in the face of such adversity. I
berated myself for knowing so little. Vilma’s parting words were, “<i>No worry,
you don’t deny Holocaust happened. If you did, then we have problem.</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">All the way to the
airport, with courageous holocaust survivors on my mind, I could hear my idol’s
voice inside, still circling me in his city, caroling, “<i>And let the Heavens
hear it/The penitential hymn/Come healing of the spirit/Come healing of the
limb …</i>” And, I didn’t mention the mural of him, or me standing street level,
craning my neck at his artful greatness nine stories high on the Cooper
Building. That happened somewhere between my repentant hangover and Edith
Gluck. And the, in the heart of the city, another piece of public artwork in
the form of a handsome mural on Crescent Street, 1,000 square meters. I saw
both, photographed them, tipped my hat, and bid him farewell. I arrived in a
city I’d never been to before in search of his resting place, to pay my
respects, and I departed with an indescribable yen. A strange ache. As if I
were leaving something or someone precious behind. And then, I suppose I was.
It also occurred to me that perhaps it wasn’t something being left behind but a
reminder that in my years, I’ve not done anything of note, surely nothing to
warrant a universe size mural to lord over an <i>entire</i> city or to have
moved other human beings so much they’d pack a small bag and set off on a whim
just to sit grave-side, to be near. The experience only rivaled that of seeing
him perform live. Once. In a whole lifetime of worship. The man, aged like a
fine wine, had more energy than I’ll ever have. He was sharp and witty and
prolific, performed encore after encore. Jaw-dropping competence. I aspire to
be so Zen, as fertile, agile. At any age.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Many friends,
assorted colleagues, and select family members scoffed at my indulgent jaunt. As
I mentioned, I am in no way incensed by their assessment. I can’t expect them
to understand. I am an Artist. I use unscented soap. I like everything in their
right place. I enjoy the elegant curve of exquisitely formed flowers. I drink
bourbon before bed. I shine my shoes. I often sport a pocket square in my
breast pocket. I do not wear my heart on my sleeve. But I feel. And ache. Love.
Suffer. And then, it all goes on a canvas, into a song, or on blank page. While
I hold most of them dear, dull accountants and soccer moms cannot comprehend
the artistic temperament, the need, the appreciation of others who have come
before. I need not have to explain further.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was hell, it
was swell, it was fun</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And, who am I fooling?
Surely not myself. I <i>love</i> pretension. I <i>am</i> pretension
personified. Proudly. Except, for those few drunken tunes with Tom Waits, I was
as free as a bird, soaring high until I came face to face with Bat Kol, the
divine voice that reveals the will of God. Or, as it were, the anointed voice
of my hero.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ve been pecking at this for a good long
time. It’s not a perfect piece of writing but I had the most delicious time
creating something full of intentional affectation and heart. I would really
love to set out for Montreal to visit Leonard Cohen’s resting place. So, until
I am able, this little ditty will have to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In (intentional) propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-34356454402916546492019-12-03T12:58:00.000-04:002020-01-24T06:45:13.788-04:00Liberty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpRbI6f2NK1EvQc6p4wjmZPAxucjVuYm4FJuQ9gIolwmRArjT2HWc1TXNLkwPtKOwtddhmL-pNzg-Nun1uqRtYgqHMMOzyKUQkqbB4ufQKZCCfsHjbN0Gi0cepO6nv_-BulRfjf7DFAw5b/s1600/Kaye+Liberty+Wynne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="397" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpRbI6f2NK1EvQc6p4wjmZPAxucjVuYm4FJuQ9gIolwmRArjT2HWc1TXNLkwPtKOwtddhmL-pNzg-Nun1uqRtYgqHMMOzyKUQkqbB4ufQKZCCfsHjbN0Gi0cepO6nv_-BulRfjf7DFAw5b/s320/Kaye+Liberty+Wynne.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Liberty</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">it
seemed fitting to befriend the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">weeping
willows when you left us<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">you,
whose happiest laughter <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">caused
an uprising in the rose bushes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
bees dizzy and spilling their golden <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">honey,
the trickle creating words that <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">stacked
themselves neatly into poems<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">we
had no idea they were writing our <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">dreams
until your absence illuminated<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
truth about the azaleas who winked<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">warmly
whenever we’d call your name<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">after
bright kites whipping in a winter wind<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">it
seemed fitting to befriend you that day<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">in
a room full of romantic minds and <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">intellectual
hearts, words in hand, waiting<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">patiently to impart a tiny piece of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">themselves
onto a small sliver of the <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">world
who were willing to listen, even<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">with
their eyes closed, and you, you <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">listened,
you smiled, you clapped your <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">gentle
hands, and after I took my turn<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">you
leaned to me and said, “<i>that was just<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">lovely,
good work, kid</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">”
– those willows <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">weeping,
are no substitute for you<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My dear poet friend, Kay Liberty Wynne
passed away and my heart is broken. It took me a little time to compose
something in her honour. She was such a wonderful human being, funny, full of
amazing stories, and so easy to be around. I am so grateful we became friends.
I will cherish the time I was able to spend with her and think fondly of her
often. Oh, but that laugh of hers. I will miss it the most.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-61934875980104558842019-10-30T20:13:00.000-03:002019-10-30T20:13:00.134-03:00Bad Moon Rising (Halloween Hallow)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIqxhQPVn9WpxoEg5_sHT28hIs-rr9ZkNXOIf4zAJXgq-yCRvGhhUpgK7pjnpfZwhiUvd8PHo_MUp5SZ_pC87Yc3Khg9Ef0Q87bJb4eDHjrJzhoZedlleRHDhAjHn2SsrvlRliITp6Qen/s1600/halloween+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="1080" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIqxhQPVn9WpxoEg5_sHT28hIs-rr9ZkNXOIf4zAJXgq-yCRvGhhUpgK7pjnpfZwhiUvd8PHo_MUp5SZ_pC87Yc3Khg9Ef0Q87bJb4eDHjrJzhoZedlleRHDhAjHn2SsrvlRliITp6Qen/s320/halloween+pic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bad Moon Rising
(Halloween Hallow)</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There is something about Halloween that conjures
a deep yearning for the saccharinity of childhood. The smell of damp leaves
that have fallen leaving the once lush trees barren only accentuates the urge
to look back. As a candy-craving tot (and as an adult), I loved and looked
forward to dressing up for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">All Saint’s
Eve. </i>My earliest memory is rushing straight home to stuff myself inside a
hot as the Hades of Hell plastic <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dingbat </i>costume,
complete with a suffocating mask. My parents thought it better for me to sweat
bullets while trick or treating than to come home with a face full of smeared
make-up. Less mess for them I guess, never mind my almost dropping dead in a ditch
from heat stroke in the height of October. Dummies. What am I saying? I
probably begged them for the costume. It is possible that it was on sale so
cost was a determining factor thanks to frugal Father Mine, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">or </i>it was the only one that would fit
me. Take your pick. Memory is a funny thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Halloween belonged to me and Way Cooler
Big Sister. Even though she was probably too old to trick or treat, she was
responsible for taking me around the neighborhood. My Mother entrusted her with
her overzealous youngest, it was more like a chaperone deal for her, but for
me, it was thrilling to go running all over Cow Bay with her, alone without
adult supervision. I always felt like I was getting away with murder. Pardon
the pun. Without fail, no matter my costume, Way Cooler Big Sister <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i> dressed as a bum. She fashioned
her last minute disguise from old clothes, towels, and bed sheets; smeared her
face with gunk and pulled a nubby winter hat down over her ears. When I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ding Bat</i>, when I was a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pirate</i>, when I was a punk rocker – her? A
bum. One year, to the delight of My Mother, I went as a bum too. Zero dollars
spent!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was the same every year. Come home
from school, practically vibrating with excitement. I’d come through the side
door and Way Cooler Big Sister would have newspaper spread all over the kitchen
table for pumpkin carving, such a gloriously ghoulish ritual. We’d spend a
little time dragging the nub of pencils into the orange flesh to create our
designs and then she’d cut a top on each and we’d start cleaning. The gooey
pumpkin guts felt cold and criminal squishing through our fingers. We cackled
our way through every disembowelled pumpkin we incised. Once our pumpkins were
finished it was time to eat. My Mother would always make something quick and
easy on the day, Kraft Dinner to share, tomato soup and grilled cheese,
something we could gobble down in a hurry. It was hard to sit still at the
table, waiting for my supper, I was always so anxious to get dressed up. Way
Cooler Big Sister and I shared the massive and brightly lit bathroom mirror
while we readied ourselves. Her reflection was heads taller than mine but I
gleefully stood beside her and put myself together, watching her transform
herself into the same boring old bum from the year before. No matter, I loved
that tradition. We’d stop for parental inspection, pose for a picture, grab our
pillow cases, and head off for the main event – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">junk</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Walking to the first stretch of houses
she reminded me to watch out for eggs. Back then, you had to be on guard for cars
speeding by hurling warm eggs at random candy-seekers. Luckily, we were never
struck and thank flaming <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beelzebub </i>we
didn’t because she would have gone bat shit on their asses. She pretty much
knew every hooligan in town. That might have saved us. Back then, when you
knocked on a neighbor’s door a morsel if you didn’t say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">trick or treat </i>you got diddley squat until did. By the end of the
night, we were sick to death of uttering the phrase but we pillaged the whole
bay stretch until our cases were so heavy you’d think we were dragging a dead
body behind us. I’d usually get weary on the way back home and plead with the
Village Hobo to carry my bounty. She’d refuse until I agitated her enough. I
was always relieved when she grabbed the pillow case from my weakling arms. Her
huffing and puffing in annoyance all the way home was worth it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The best part of Halloween isn’t even
the long arduous task of collecting the treats but getting home, scarily
flushed, stripping out of your costume, and collectively dumping our loot,
spread all over the living-room floor. We’d sit cross-legged and assess our
sugary glut and trade each other for favorites. I traded her licorice for
Tootsie Rolls. My Mother hovered hoping to score a few candy bars. I always
gave her my caramels much to Way Cooler Big Sister’s dismay. Once I got a full
size Mars bar and I gave it to her. One year while organizing our stuff I
popped a candy kiss in my mouth. It was so tough and gooey that it sucked a
loose tooth right up out of my gum. I could feel the air hit the empty pocket
and fill with saliva. It scared the living daylights out of me so naturally I
swore. My Mother was not pleased. Way Cooler Big Sister joked and asked me how
I planned get money from the tooth fairy if it was stuck in a wad of candy. I
told her easy, I’d just set it on my night table. She shook her head and told
me if it wasn’t under my pillow I wouldn’t get any money. Me, the gullible
goblin, thought long and hard for a second and then proceeded to nibble all the
candy from around the tooth. She busted out laughing and stopped me. She said
she was just kidding, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And by the way,
there’s no such thing as the Tooth Fairy.</i>” Evil Sorcerer. It is bad enough she
took Santa <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and </i>the Easter Bunny from
me, she couldn’t leave me the Tooth Fairy!? Happy friggin’ Halloween.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And, without fail, once we were tucked
in good and tight, tummies aching from one too many samples of our rampage, she’d
relay the story about the Ouija board. The same Ouija board they all hid in the
furnace room from Father Mine who <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">despised
</i>them and would brain anyone stowing one away in any house of his. I used to
hide in there now and then if I got myself in a bit of hot water. I’d see it
there, out of the corner of my eye, in its dilapidated box with the broken
corners, daring me to come closer. No friggin’ way. Not after what happened the
time Way Cooler Big Sister and Rock Star Brother brazenly used it to summon the
dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">They were in our basement in Cow Bay,
sitting in the middle of the floor near the pool table. Way Cooler Sister said
the room was dim and quiet when the each placed their trembling fingers on the heart-shaped
wooded planchette. Way Cooler Big Sister said Rock Star Brother was terrified
of becoming possessed by a demon but was curious enough to risk it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Supposedly</i>, they asked a series of
questions and the planchette moved under their fingers to signify yes or no
answers. And then, according to Myers Family Lore, the two small basement
windows lit up with violent flames and the face of a burning girl appeared. Way
Cooler Sister said it scared the living shit out of them. They packed it up
like bats out of hell, put it back in the furnace room where they found it, and
never spoke of it again. I know for certain Way Cooler Big Sister carried a
belief and a fascination for such things but I don’t know if Rock Star Brother
does. Even after the experience he had in the living-room late one night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Rock Star Brother, while still hanging
at home, came home late from a gig. He took a beer into the living-room with
him, sat down in the rocking chair next to the bay window, turned on the TV to
unwind before sleep. Staring aimlessly at the TV, it took him a minute to realize
the curtains had started blowing up and almost straight out by where he was
lounging. He moved to go shut the window and then froze. Our bay window back
then didn’t open. There was no air source to lift the curtains in such a way,
no vent, heater, nothing. In a jolt of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">holy
shit </i>and disbelief, he powered everything down and put himself to bed. I
bet you ten bucks if you asked him about it now, he either wouldn’t remember or
admit it happened if it did. He almost shit his pants. I remember him re-telling
it like it was yesterday, the wide of his eyes, talking with his hands. Way
Cooler Big Sister asked him if the window was on fire. He cut his eyes at her,
the expression spoke louder than words. She laughed and laughed and laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Since Halloween is tomorrow, I thought I’d
use it as an excuse to spin another little tale for my creative non-fiction
project. I miss Kelly at Halloween. She decorated and loved passing out treats
to the kids and often mingled with the neighbors. Save <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> kids, as in the ones I look forward to, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hate </i>passing out candy. I can’t explain why but it has never been
my thing and I didn’t have to worry so much about it because she was down at
the door willingly. Hannah will be here tomorrow so I told her if she’s staying
the night, she was in charge of passing out the treats <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">except</i> for my favorite Littles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Stay safe this Halloween. It’s supposed
to rain in this region but I hope it is a mere drizzle at least for the kids. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-91443772826871813322019-10-25T15:17:00.000-03:002019-10-25T15:17:18.532-03:00We Live Dismayed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSJYrexD-JcW19LHEmFEEnwqM9wI7FexPWUcrEpbVBcuzFuB5eNDmxbl9ztQMVTUf18tpyTBhmdCS1bhX9jjWeKU2t5e_ZU-A_JEw1dWVHH6Wt3cFXKL4bn-JkA89j_a3naBz3dRp1jhz/s1600/dancers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="782" data-original-width="474" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSJYrexD-JcW19LHEmFEEnwqM9wI7FexPWUcrEpbVBcuzFuB5eNDmxbl9ztQMVTUf18tpyTBhmdCS1bhX9jjWeKU2t5e_ZU-A_JEw1dWVHH6Wt3cFXKL4bn-JkA89j_a3naBz3dRp1jhz/s320/dancers.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>We
Live Dismayed</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">dear
lazy cliché, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>according to you<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>someone higher brow than <i>I<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>someone who commonly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>refers to <i>my</i> ilk as assorted
lowlifes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">measly footnotes or failed punchlines<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>is of the belief <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">half-hearted <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">duty-bound consoling
messages <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>matter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>carry on with your cocktail party tête-à-têtes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>while those of us delegated to the
trash heap<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>see you for the schmaltzy relic that
you are<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>we hope you understand when we laugh
at <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>the inordinate amount of slavish devotion
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i>idiot stick figures with no souls</i>
heap on you<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>it
is unearned &<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>we live dismayed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>in the face of the imbalance of power
<i>your</i> ilk <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">believe sets you apart from diminutive peons<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">we the undersigned know better<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">we know you’re full of shit<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">yours,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the dismayed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A wee poem to blow off a little steam.
With a nod to Sex and the City.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Happy Friday!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-2762115523274073782019-10-24T10:55:00.000-03:002019-10-24T10:55:05.725-03:00Making Up Is Hard To Do<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3b7JOzFYIZTaI7ATBBI4dHOX-Dwb7BJXCv4cv5ezFkU6Ii_3sBHF261gcO69A0ybGmfAEhfSceCshsMRhEZ6hSRZ-ezYJAG7lu_SmCPAVZaFMp3uXiqN8mblAPlomD-pvNWPFlnyWX0m/s1600/kitchen2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="571" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3b7JOzFYIZTaI7ATBBI4dHOX-Dwb7BJXCv4cv5ezFkU6Ii_3sBHF261gcO69A0ybGmfAEhfSceCshsMRhEZ6hSRZ-ezYJAG7lu_SmCPAVZaFMp3uXiqN8mblAPlomD-pvNWPFlnyWX0m/s320/kitchen2.jpg" width="316" /></a></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Making
Up Is Hard To Do</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
last time I saw her<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">she
was in the kitchen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">making
sauerkraut soup<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">in
a pressure cooker<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">in
the time it took her to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">brown
the bacon, onion<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
garlic in oil she was<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">done
with my excuses<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
curt nod of her head<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
the flick of her hand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">was
my clear dismissal <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
obeyed her direct order<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’d rather have <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">found
a way back into<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">her
good graces – to be<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">able
to sit across from her<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">with
a bowl of that soup<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">a
slice of warm country<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">bread
smothered in butter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">a
grilled sausage<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
her sitting across the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">table
from me, laughing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">if
she only knew<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">how truly sorry I am<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The smallest detail of a recipe in newsprint
inspired this poem. The second after I saw it, I jotted the whole poem down in
the margins of my crossword puzzle. It’s two parts outward spark, and two parts
truth. The regretful feeling in this piece is very real. For me, it’s healthy
and helpful to work it all out on the page, keeping the drama where it belongs.
In art and outside of myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-41175829311292635652019-10-23T17:35:00.000-03:002019-10-23T17:35:08.651-03:00Permanent Moonlight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LOOmdJzf6T_6UtdiIfAIwkqYwcxxgdXDsyUXVBd9uE0oJ982gcuM0gL4_WRBUR1Jt2K8vSQf81SiY0qZ6Xf45R5VtF-bDwL0bC8cNrhOzzPbPKZcOtatoYEO00ZKHDSxV2Pt9OG0HNPx/s1600/party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="500" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LOOmdJzf6T_6UtdiIfAIwkqYwcxxgdXDsyUXVBd9uE0oJ982gcuM0gL4_WRBUR1Jt2K8vSQf81SiY0qZ6Xf45R5VtF-bDwL0bC8cNrhOzzPbPKZcOtatoYEO00ZKHDSxV2Pt9OG0HNPx/s320/party.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Permanent
Moonlight</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I wish for it<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">an
enduring nighttime<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">like
that one we spent<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">at
a high-rise party in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1996<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">slow-dancing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">across
a herringbone <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">parquet
floor<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the act<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">upstaged
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
anticipated<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>arrival of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Comet
Hyakutake <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">other
roisterers took the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">stairs
two at a time to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
roof to bear witness<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">&
we just kept dancing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I wish for it<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">insist</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> for it –
permanent <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">moonlight<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>& a decent pen <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">with
which to write it all<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">down<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>to preserve time<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">to
remember the steps we<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">took
together <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>unaware <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am pretty sure I’m going to drink
heavily tonight. Or, at the very least, open wine and drink a good quarter of
it straight from the bottle. I’m mulling it over as I type. Whirlwind workday. In
addition, gale force winds and accompanying rain on the commute home. An umbrella
just wasn’t cutting it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Happy to be home with a steamy bowl of
Cream of Wheat for dinner. Something comforting and dependable after a rousing
day of <i>unpredictability</i>. Happy to have penned this poem on the way home to
my securities. My cat. And, my Mom who is dining quietly with me doing a
crossword from the paper I brought home for her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Is it Friday yet?!3<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">PS – Dusklight. Then a poem about
permanent moonlight?! I’m sensing a theme here.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-46927311904607746062019-10-21T13:29:00.000-03:002019-10-21T13:29:40.899-03:00Dusklight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7vWH4TiwsH3Eq_HlT2n2o5JpZhupKWWArYNpL-Cx3LVuAhegZIxGBtp6aS5YG3HqWCv1qPqDQ6SjzaCCEvwUbM6ecGWnVL_Ri8Q4JXTCbSoZWoxKcyCmG266QXv8lsAGPyPkIgffQv4l/s1600/rwbb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="457" data-original-width="444" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7vWH4TiwsH3Eq_HlT2n2o5JpZhupKWWArYNpL-Cx3LVuAhegZIxGBtp6aS5YG3HqWCv1qPqDQ6SjzaCCEvwUbM6ecGWnVL_Ri8Q4JXTCbSoZWoxKcyCmG266QXv8lsAGPyPkIgffQv4l/s320/rwbb.jpg" width="310" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Dusklight</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>how sweet it is<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mercy’s
sound at dusklight<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">paired
with the taste of plum<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">brandy
on my lips<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">all night I traversed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">guided
by a broken star map<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">with
an armful of forgiving <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">wildflowers
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>how kind they are<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
red-wing blackbirds who<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">muted
midnight, a riveting act<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">so
we might<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>dismantle the sun<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s election day in Canada. I value the
right to vote and never waste an opportunity to exercise it. I am feeling
uneasy about the potential direction our country will be going in when I wake
up tomorrow. I’ll be devastated if dirty campaigning and rhetoric puts Andrew
Scheer in power. It’ll be like Harper 2.0 with a Trump twist and it’s not
something I want for myself, my loved ones, and my country. I want my right and
those of all Canadians intact. Even more than I want the budget balanced. My
hope is Canadians are thoughtful with their votes today. Strategic. And, they
aren’t just voting one way because they don’t like the other. It’s
irresponsible to not think critically at the polls. I wish more people understood
the magnitude of their actions. Or inaction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am sick to death of American politics
ala Trump. I can’t hear that noise across this country too. If that happens, I
might lose complete and utter faith in my fellow man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Come on, Canada. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Until then, a sweet little poem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-3409267439466221152019-10-17T09:31:00.000-03:002019-10-17T09:31:15.654-03:00A Year Without My Sister<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDwJ5eyW4aiinoGKnTLDQPj58R5hPuKhonIyAUpVcXWRssPzDwq-BUUqjeJTFtr_EstSexcg8ZBpDc3jcZpfxWxOVXqNfmEDc4sxDqksuJxuZsH6tMssPKz1iGfyQjzBomoOSrULP7YbT4/s1600/2019-10-02+15.50.17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1057" data-original-width="1073" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDwJ5eyW4aiinoGKnTLDQPj58R5hPuKhonIyAUpVcXWRssPzDwq-BUUqjeJTFtr_EstSexcg8ZBpDc3jcZpfxWxOVXqNfmEDc4sxDqksuJxuZsH6tMssPKz1iGfyQjzBomoOSrULP7YbT4/s320/2019-10-02+15.50.17.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A Year Without My
Sister<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Somewhere in between my sister’s last
breath and this morning’s timid dayrise, I stopped listening. To those who told
me, “<i>Do not exalt your sorrow</i>.” To those who cast me aside because they
didn’t know what to say so they steered clear. To those who changed the subject
in favor of <i>lighter </i>conversation when I needed their ear or their
shoulder most. I stopped listening. To the opinions, the judgements, the
chatter, and the <i>deafening</i> silence. All of it. I took care of myself. I
took care of my Mother. Kept her spirits up in the very same way she did mine.
That’s what my Sister would have wanted. For us to be okay, alone together. And,
we are. Somewhat. We’re getting there at least. With the help of willing and gentle
familial hands, healing is <i>possible</i>. A dear heart shared a book about
sibling loss that helped quite a bit but the truth of it is, one full year
later, I am still profoundly grief-stricken. The loss of a sibling, it’s like
losing the ability to breathe, losing a limb. It leaves you <i>halved</i>. And,
I have four siblings left. The mere thought of ever having to endure a similar
loss, is terrifying. My Sister was my friend my <i>whole</i> life, and no
matter the state of our relationship, her absence has forged a deficit in my
life that will forever plague me. I can’t even imagine how it feels for my
Mother. If the loss of sibling hurts this much, I can’t imagine how badly her
heart is broken to lose a child. From the depths of such despair, we continue
to recover. Frankly, it’ll take a lifetime. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I sit alone today, remembering. Her
hospital room. The grey window overlooking the rain-stained sidewalks, bare
tree branches drumming on the muddled pane. My Sister, after a long restless
night, unhooked from everything aside from her heart monitor, held on. Her heart
beat strong even though her lungs lagged. I had one moment alone with her
before she died. My family made the trek for coffees and snacks. I sat vigil at
her bedside, my hand wrapped around her arm just above her wrist. She was warm
and still. I talked to her quietly. She moaned softly in response. I realized
after a bit of time passed, I couldn’t move my hand. I knew I should let go. I
tried. And still, my fingers stayed snaked protectively around her. I <i>tried</i>
to instruct my brain to let go and yet not a muscle in my whole body moved. Not
even a twitch. I didn’t fight it. It’s just that when I found the courage to
slacken my grasp, a dear friend of hers breezed through her door and called my
Sister’s name. The volume and nervous tenor in her voice startled me and caused
my grip to tighten but my Sister’s eyes also snapped open in response to her
friend’s arrival. It was a hopeful but fleeting acknowledgment. It was all she
could muster, a surprised reaction to a voice she loved more than most. For the
rest of the visit, her breathing rattled on, my hand still firmly in place.
When my family, the faces I’d been facing the inevitable with, returned with
hot Starbucks coffee and a bite, I let go of my Sister’s arm. Guilt washed over
me. My fingerprints were deep in her soft skin. Unbeknownst to me, I quite
literally had a death grip on her limb. I watched the color pour back into
place while I sipped my coffee and listened to her heart monitor bleeping
above.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There were so many moments the night
before, with the faces I’d been facing the inevitable with, circled around her
dimly lit bed, that caused me great anxiety. Each time she made a strange sound,
or her breath shuddered I held mine and wondered if that was it. It never was.
At that time, I realized her heart monitor had been turned down and away from
us. When I inquired the nurse told us families find it too scary. I requested
for her to turn it around and set the volume to low. After a night of fits and
starts, wondering if it was her time, I needed to be fully aware of what was
happening. She was more than happy to oblige. She understood exactly the
reasons why. I just could not be blind-sided. Nor did I want my Sister to slip
away from us without any notice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I still cannot believe she’s gone. When
they transferred her from Dartmouth to Halifax, I thought for sure she’d be
okay with the proper team, who could assess what was happening with her body
and provide the necessary treatment and care. It did not occur to me that she
was <i>dying</i>. Or, maybe it did, and <i>I</i> was in denial. My memory, in <i>that</i>
capacity, does not serve. I do remember feeling a pang of optimism. That first
night. A Friday. My eldest Sister and I sat with her late into the night. We
decorated her space with family photos, trinkets from home, and a painting my
eldest Sister’s husband painted for her. Still lucid, my Sister awoke, regarded
us with sadness and said, “<i>You guys are going to be so tired. You don’t have
to stay</i>.” A ball of pain rose in my throat at her concern considering where
she was, “<i>Don’t you worry about us</i>,” I told her, “<i>we just want to
hang out with you a little longer, we’re fine</i>.” Either of us wanted to
leave her. On the announcement she was being moved over to Halifax, she was
paralyzed with fear. She didn’t want to be transported by ambulance. She was
tired she said and wasn’t sure she could handle it. I did everything I could to
calm her. I promised we’d be there when she was settled in her room. And, we
were. It took an incredible amount of time for them to get her there, get her
settled, and let us in. We waited impatiently in one of the hospital’s family
rooms. The interning doctor finally came to talk to us. She asked us a series
of intense and intimate questions. They were difficult to answer. We spoke
candidly and carefully. The statement from the doctor, that still to this day,
sticks with me, “<i>Your sister is not going to die imminently</i>.” <i>Die?</i>
Where did <i>that</i> come from? She died a mere five days later. Which proved
to me, the care, or lack thereof, she received across the harbor, in a word,
was abysmal. <i>Die?</i> <i>I</i> could have <i>died</i> at her <i>words</i>. I
thought we would get answers, not be planning a <i>funeral</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Five days later. Her heart monitor is
doing its deed. Keeping us abreast of what is happening inside of her while she
slept peacefully, encircled by love of family. The night before, I was in
Walmart with my niece. My eldest Sister and two other nieces were with her. We
received a barrage of text messages telling us to drop everything and get to
the hospital. By all accounts during that day, she seemed like she was almost
improving. And then, the fight to detach herself from machines began. We made
our way to Halifax in a hurry. Upon entering the room, my Sister’s eyes were
open, her hand partially extended. I said hello to her, she looked up at me,
and to each face standing guard over her, my eldest Sister, three nieces, and
said, “<i>I love you guys</i>.” They were her last words. So sincere, peaceful.
One of her biggest fears was dying alone. At least in her absence, we can take
some comfort in the fact we know she wasn’t alone and was engulfed in love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The moment it happened; it still haunts
me. I am well versed in her facial expressions from a lifetime of laughing and
crying and arguing and worrying. But that last expression, the one where the
life left her eyes, changed the whole person <i>I</i> was into someone <i>else</i>.
I was stood at the end of her bed. My eyes frightfully went between her face
and the urgent activity happening on the screen of her heart monitor. It
happened in the blink of an eye. One minute she’s breathing peacefully, the
very next second barely breathing, and then gone. Her face. Her eyes. Her
essence, gone. Her life force lifted out of her and she ceased being. Her eyes
rolled and went grey. I felt my legs give out. In the strangest haze, I lowered
myself down onto the stool and whispered, “<i>Oh my God</i>.” I covered my face
with my hands in a state of disbelief, shock. I stayed only a moment and exited
the room. I sat in the chair just outside her door, composed myself and started
making the dreaded calls. A few of my Sister’s dearest friends started to
trickle in, ones we thought might want to say goodbye. They were all too late.
I watched them, one by one, arrive, and almost buckle to the floor in the
despair they didn’t make it in time. It was all so surreal. So fucking sad. Too
much. I just kept thinking – <i>I don’t know what I’ll do without her</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">What have I done without her? The simple
answer is – live. It has been a struggle to settle into a new normal, one that
doesn’t include her. I wake up, I go to work, I go home, sometimes I let loose
for a bit of fun, and somewhere in between I try to understand this world
without her in it – without her boisterousness, her bullheadedness, her comedy,
her cursing, and her friendship. She, very much like our Dad, who bore another
gaping hole in my Universe when he passed, took up a lot of air. I don’t know
what to do with what they left behind – all I can manage is to celebrate what
was. Some days, it’s still hard to breathe. Other days, it’s peaceful to recall
her. Most days, it’s lonely. But – every day I wake up with a pulse, with those
I love still with me, is a blessing. Nothing, as I’ve painfully been reminded,
is promised.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was fortunate enough, at the last minute
on Saturday after my Big Magic adventure, to encounter a psychic medium. He
provided me with a good dose of comfort. There were specific details about her
life, personality, experiences, and otherwise he’d never have known unless she
was there to share with him, unless he knew her personally. He did not. The crux
of his offering was that she is always with me, around me, appreciates me
talking to her, keeping her up to date on the latest news (even though she
already knows he said). The most important thing he imparted was that she was
safe and happy and among us. I can only hope that’s true. After speaking with
him, I am certain it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A year without my Sister. A year today, is
also a year without me. I’ve learned from losing my Dad, when the firsts come
along or occasions, it’s helpful to partake in things they liked most to be
close. I’m thinking enchiladas for dinner and a playlist full of her favorite
music will be a good place to start. We still haven’t gone through her things,
what’s left. That’s on the agenda as well. It’s also calling for a rainstorm
today. Appropriate for the current feels of remembering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I love you, Sister. I miss you like crazy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-83116662833308535862019-10-15T19:29:00.001-03:002019-10-15T19:29:53.840-03:00Making Big Magic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-HwNz9Lmz3oLymW37Yb5Db7tT3Uik2xV_o2zEIsKKCpqcRPfJJFyJRltsXKEJl12mpESc0dD4Bo4zNzOlVRECRLtlFkwR9WNgxC9KxHAaBnETGGZY9p7uQ6-5qUP6Pxmp5dcVQWoIjOa/s1600/soultribe.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1035" data-original-width="1073" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-HwNz9Lmz3oLymW37Yb5Db7tT3Uik2xV_o2zEIsKKCpqcRPfJJFyJRltsXKEJl12mpESc0dD4Bo4zNzOlVRECRLtlFkwR9WNgxC9KxHAaBnETGGZY9p7uQ6-5qUP6Pxmp5dcVQWoIjOa/s320/soultribe.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Making Big Magic</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">(w/ Elizabeth Gilbert)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Big
Magic</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
by Elizabeth Gilbert is, for lack of a better word, my Bible. It, along with a
few other important creative resources, is my go-to when I find myself facing a
dry well, blocked, too sad or overwhelmed to write or send a handwritten letter,
even compose a grocery list. My hard cover copy, to the dismay of some of my
dear hearts, is dog-eared, littered with underlined passages, margin scribbles,
and stuck with Post-It Notes. You can imagine my utter delight when I heard she’d
be coming to town to workshop said book. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Overjoyed.
</i>Sign me up! I counted sleeps for months until the fateful day arrived. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Friday, the last work day before a long
weekend had me busy as a bee. With my 4pm departure looming, I hurried and
toiled until the eleventh hour but hadn’t noticed a colossal mistake I’d made.
A mistake that would cause someone else extra work, someone who didn’t need
something else added to her plate. I deflated. My joy turned to guilt, my guilt
turned to pain. I do not like to make mistakes, especially ones that cause
someone else work and/or worry. That’s how my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Making Big Magic </i>weekend started. With a giant flub that sat on my
chest like an elephant. Even my ferry ride across the Halifax Harbour didn’t
help. I stared out across the grey expanse with the sick feeling that in my
rush to joy, I let someone down. And, I didn’t know how to shake it off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I checked into my room at Hotel Halifax
with about forty minutes until the Scotia Square mall closed. I decided to
venture up to quickly browse the shops and grab a muffin and orange juice to
store in my room’s mini-fridge. Still feeling like a loser, I made my way
through the lobby and started up the stairs to the mall. Elizabeth Gilbert, at
the very same time, was descending. She was clad warm gear (which makes sense
because not long before she posted on her Instagram she was on the very cold
Halifax Waterfront), she was looking down at her phone. Whatever she was
watching/reading warmed her. Because I was feeling like I was, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">almost </i>let the opportunity to say hello
go by. It is my common practice when I see someone of note to let them go
quietly and smile to myself. I’m not one to bother folks. But, it was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Elizabeth Gilbert. </i>I said, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hi, Liz Gilbert.</i>” She looked up from her
phone with happy eyes and a smile that enveloped me. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hi, Sweetheart,</i>” she replied in kind. We chatted only moments and
somehow my bad day came up but I am convinced I mentioned it because I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so </i>close to tears. I thought at least if
she is aware of the day, she won’t think I’m crying because I was in front of
her. I suppose it did have something to do with it. Our meet cute, in my mind,
was cosmic. I was meant to run into her on those very stairs. Having the chance
to say hello, was the Universe’s antidote to my day. Her hug was a salve. I bid
hear adieu, feeling more like a million bucks and told her I was really looking
forward to work-shopping with her in the morning. She said, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s going to be beautiful. See you there!</i>”
I found my goodies for breakfast and impulse bought a cozy coat sweater from
Reitmans and then it was time to find dinner. I made my way across the pedway
to Casino NS, parked myself at the loud crowded bar and had a bite. Rock Star
Brother was playing at 9pm so I lingered long enough for a quick check-in, a
hug, a few songs, and I was back in my room to do my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gratitude </i>homework. I shared with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Liz </i>I had created a gratitude bomb, something she invented for journaling.
She was pleased as punch! To follow it up, I did a Thanksgiving list while
sprawled out on my very own King size bed with Spotify on low. Before long,
with the giant video screen on the side of the Scotia Bank Center as my night
light, I drifted off with my good thoughts until my 7am alarm sounded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">One of the things on my Thanksgiving
list was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hotel showers.</i> I enjoyed a
long luxurious shower (so sorry Mother Earth, I know water is precious but I do
conserve otherwise!) and prepared for the day. I registered for the workshop at
the Convention Center, up on the 5<sup>th</sup> floor, mingled and made friends
while waiting for the doors to open. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Elizabeth
Gilbert </i>stood at the entrance and hugged each and every person who passed
through the door. Including me. Two hugs! I moved swiftly so she could keep up
the pace and found my seat. Once in, I said hello to the lovely strangers to my
left and right. Strangers I spent the day with, sharing some super intimate
stuff. We may or may not cross paths again but I’ll always be grateful to them
for their tender attention and their trust in me with their own intimate
details.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The workshop was set up in a series of
letters. We were required to write deep, detailed letters to our Fear,
Enchantment, Persistence, Trust, and a series of Permission Slips. I won’t
share all of my letters here because much of what I composed and shared with my
soul sister counterparts is private. Some of the work was difficult. Some of it
was joyful. All of it was enlightening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I want to share my letter to Fear with
you. It goes like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dear Nicole,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fear</i>. This is what I want to say to you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am afraid that I am not enough. Not
good enough. Smart enough. I am afraid I am no worthy of romantic love. I am
afraid I will be alone and not know what it is to walk side by side with a
partner regards me with kindness and respect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am afraid I am too obese to be touched.
Scared my body will prevent someone from wanting me, all of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am afraid to fail. Every damn day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am afraid that in taking care of
everyone else I’ll have nothing else left for me when I really need it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am afraid of confrontation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am scared of gas-lighting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am afraid of losing those I love from
death, from speaking my mind, from having a differing opinion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am afraid of conforming to other
people’s moods. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am afraid of being too cautious,
enough to miss real opportunities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am afraid of being so strong all the
time I might fall apart at the worst possible time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am afraid of my own infinite potential
because I am aware of it and know I can soar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am, sometimes, afraid to die,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thank you for listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Yours, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Fear<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I read this aloud to my Lovely Stranger.
My voice cracked. I stuttered once or twice, I paused for a hard swallow. She
was no different. We were both in tears. We smiled to each other. And then, for
the big sob.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Liz
</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">invited
another Lovely Stranger to come forth, put her back to the room, and read what
she wrote aloud. Once she was finished, she asked her to repeat the first line
of her letter again, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I am afraid I am not
enough</i>. Ahem. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Liz </i>then regarded
us, asked anyone who said something similar to stand up. All at once, the
entire room rose. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Liz </i>then asked
Lovely Stranger to turn and face her peers. The moment she did, there was a
collective sob. The memory of it as I type brings tears to my eyes. It was a
heavy exercise. It was hard but liberating. The rest of the letters especially
that to our Enchantment, was amazing. It started: Dear Nicole, I am your Enchantment.
This is what I want to tell you. I love when we have artist dates …
essentially, I gorgeous letter full of all the things that enchant, bring joy,
fulfillment. I could have written that one for days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Elizabeth
Gilbert </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">is
a beautiful human being. An enlightened teacher who still carries her own
burdens and isn’t afraid to admit she is still a work in progress. The things I
learned from her I will carry with me my whole life. It’ll show up in my
creative endeavors, it’ll appear in my relationships, at my workplace, in the
streets, in the comfort of my own home. It was a day full of goodness,
kindness, bonding, sharing, honesty, heart-rending joy. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Liz </i>put me in touch with myself. Taught me about my brain, my
Spirit, my whole self. In a way that made the world crack wide open so Light
could flood forth. If you ever have the chance to hear her speak, to take part
in a workshop, please do. Do not hesitate. It was one of the most profound experiences
of my adult life. It was a gratitude bomb <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">personified</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was so blessed to have been there.
Grateful to have taken away so much that I will apply to my life and my
writing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-18613943248189928522019-10-04T12:48:00.000-03:002019-10-04T12:48:06.645-03:00We Talk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5u0EHOGuRbcLArWhNh5xfY0RkRuZYv49O0vimnbgc5hS-UyZsvJcoBg8nl4Q_fPWjPCq3IPi34F9pyrJu2OLddDEHSjoBgRHMNbpK1hwBsrT42vm3BIyG8rcJnvA7d06LCNpUETkXZxPV/s1600/pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="480" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5u0EHOGuRbcLArWhNh5xfY0RkRuZYv49O0vimnbgc5hS-UyZsvJcoBg8nl4Q_fPWjPCq3IPi34F9pyrJu2OLddDEHSjoBgRHMNbpK1hwBsrT42vm3BIyG8rcJnvA7d06LCNpUETkXZxPV/s320/pic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>We Talk</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>hunched & huddled together<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">we
talk rock ‘n’ roll in battered leather jackets<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">&
weathered boots over strong cups of coffee<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>in covert agreement<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">we
talk Los Angeles & the New York sound<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">but
mostly we just shoot the shit about nothing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">opulence to squalor<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>in
unspooled metaphors <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>for countless hours<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">we
talk between bites of day-old stale confections<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">two
rapid minds hatching conspiracies strange &<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">verbose
in detail, what some might dare refer to as<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>grievous triumphs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>combined wounds bound & sacred<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">we
talk about traveling through twisted mountains<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">to
reach bright lights & big cities & small towns to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">loud crowded gigs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>spit, smoke & spurs – an
unfettered blur<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">a
wild flood of accrued backseat/stage memories <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">we
talk<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>with ease, mapping out the
trajectory of <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>collective electrified
blues<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Just a poem. Written on a Friday morning commute
when I wanted to read my book, the Universe thought better and that I should be
writing. So, I did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m hitting up a rock show at The Marquee
tomorrow night. Perhaps that’s where it was culled from. Wherever the particles
materialized from, I was just happy, as always, to write something down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Getting closer to the date too I get to workshop
Big Magic with Elizabeth Gilbert. Counting sleeps. I am grateful the workshop
is coming at the same time I’m working on the creative non-fiction pieces for
Family Ties. I think it’s going to be an asset in that regard in <i>addition</i>
to a salve for my soul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Happy Friday, peeps!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-69558808184107184432019-09-26T15:48:00.000-03:002019-09-26T15:48:45.152-03:00These Boots<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2vvvzFJF7mZmTsgAHH7p5NpZwC7nMxLwJrFCRz5MweiEF5bREnqlmAP588-nJRmlBLlvwLydBWngij2XUaoZhLMu-JMa_onT0nQsN0Ch7QvfvA6du2NDIhb5vyq7TLKy_uv1lWAhKjui5/s1600/2019-09-25+08.11.48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1409" data-original-width="1600" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2vvvzFJF7mZmTsgAHH7p5NpZwC7nMxLwJrFCRz5MweiEF5bREnqlmAP588-nJRmlBLlvwLydBWngij2XUaoZhLMu-JMa_onT0nQsN0Ch7QvfvA6du2NDIhb5vyq7TLKy_uv1lWAhKjui5/s320/2019-09-25+08.11.48.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">These Boots<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m not sure how or why the sweetest
poodle terrier we named Boots became a member of our family during my Pre-K
years but I’m awfully glad she did. She was one of the best friends I’ve ever had.
Wherever I was, she was too. If I was watching TV on my bell on the floor, she’d
be laying across the back of my legs, if me and my shower cap were in the bathtub,
she’d sit on the bath matt and wait for me to finish. She was my shadow. It was
my job to feed her. Twice daily we’d walk together to the cupboard, I’d take
down the box red and blue box of Gaines Burgers, unwrap the hamburger-like
patty and crumble it up into her bowl, all the while she’s looking up at me lovingly
and expectantly, tail wagging. I am of the mind that families with young
children should have pets. Kids can learn valuable life lessons early on just
from having a furry sidekick. They inspire confident feelings and can boost
self-esteem. I can tell you, for a kid with a mixed bag of abandonment issues
mounting by the second, having Boots to focus on gave me somewhere to put my trust.
And, in that, I grew to be compassionate, empathic – that’ll happen when you
learn early on what it is to care for a living breathing thing. When I think of
her now, those are the things I think of and thank her for. Nerdy but true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boots was with me the day I swore I’d never
speak to Father Mine again. I planted sunflowers in the back yard, choosing the
far-left corner of the fence so they could grow in peace and in direct sunlight
as suggested on the seedling packet. Father Mine arrived while I was at Pre-K
to mow the endless lawn on our Cow Bay property. He was gone by the time I got
home. I grabbed a cookie for myself, slipped Boots an extra Milk Bone treat while
my Mother’s back was turned, grabbed my watering can, and we set off to ‘<i>sunflower
corner</i>’. When we reached the sweet spot, I stopped dead in my tracks. The
young green stems that had sprouted so proudly from the well-tended plot were <i>gone</i>.
<i>Leveled</i>. <i>History</i>. An angry spray of tears flew out of my face as
I stomped my sneakers toward the house, Boots trotting along beside me. I stood
before my Mother, heartbroken, defeated, I threw my hands up dramatically, “<i>What
happened to my sunflowers!?</i>” She was drying dishes, her hair rolled up in
curlers setting under a favorite kerchief when I accosted her with my plight. Her
face fell. She stopped drying the large dinner plate in her hands, the
expression on her face read as <i>oh shit</i>, “<i>Your father mowed the lawn
earlier, he must have forgotten they were there</i>.” My eyes bulged, “<i>Yeah
well, see how fast I forget HIM! I told him to be careful on the phone last
night! He promised he would!</i>” I flew to my room and threw myself face first
into a pillow and screamed into it. There was Boots, right up beside me like, <i>I
know girl, I got your back</i>. At least up to the point where I cried all over
her silky fur and then I’m sure, based on her doggy body language, her thoughts
were more like, <i>ok slow your roll, they’re just flowers</i>. The after-supper
phone call with Father Mine was a quiet one. I still wasn’t in a forgiving mood.
He apologized and said he forgot me telling him about the flowers. And, then I
got myself in big doggy doo-doo because I barked something brazen that he
forgot because he only thinks about himself. <i>Out of the mouths of babes, eh?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boots was such a fun pup. Both of us
garnered endless hours of entertainment from a simple towel. I twirled a towel
above her once and she grabbed hold of it and pulled. Kept pulling until I was
in a fit of giggles. We quickly graduated to the floor. We’d run off to a long
hallway, I’d get down flat on my belly, Boots would grab the other end with her
teeth which had to be hard as knockers because she’d pulled all the way down
the hall from Way Cooler Big Sister’s bedroom door to my Mother’s. We’d do this
until we were both tuckered. Some days it went on for ages and either of us minded.
My Mother, on the other hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Somewhere along the way, Boots learned how
to run around the wide circumference of our front lawn carrying a ball on the
tip of her nose. And, the only time she’d <i>perform</i>, was when Father Mine
would visit. I remember countless days where he’d stand on the cement walk way
in his long tan trench coat, suit, and shiny shoes (his work clothes), I’d be
next to him, Boots down below, tale just wagging, waiting for him to drop the
ball, “<i>Ready, Boots? Show Daddy how you put the ball on your nose</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Father Mine would drop the ball. Boots, in
her expert way would maneuver her snout between the fresh cut grass and the
ball, flick it up in the air, catch it on the end of her wet nose, run the whole
way around the lawn, and <i>fast</i>. It was a marvel. She’d return the ball
back to Father Mine like a prize and wait for the treat he always had in his
coat pocket. We’d show off her circus act any chance we could and joke that she’s
really a seal disguised as a dog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The one thing about Boots, she never left
the yard. She’d bark at passers-by, but her paws never left the driveway or fence
edge. This one day I was busy drawing a very Salvador Dali-shaped hopscotch in
the driveway and Boots started barking at one of the neighborhood bullies
driving by on his bike. This bully, with his shaggy hair, furrowed brow,
pinched lips, and bad manners, without so much as a thought, flung his gangly
leg way from the rusted petal and sideswiped Boots hard in the ribs with his
rotten sneaker, “<i>Shut the fuck up, you mangy mutt!</i>” So much venom in his
voice. Boots recoiled and squealed in pain and fear. I ran to her and shouted down
the road, “<i>Pick on something your own size, ya big dummy!</i>” It so happens
that Bookend Brother was visiting that day. He saw everything from the kitchen
window and flew out of the side door and down to where me and the dog were, “<i>Who
was that!? Where does he live!?” Tell me right now so help me God!</i>” I had
no problem coughing up the information. I was so mad I could have spit nails.
Bookend Brother bound down the road and disappeared around the curvy bend of
the Bay stretch. I sat on the lawn with Boots, consoling and hugging her. She
shivered. Bookend Brother was back before I could even blink. He was followed
by the bully and his mother who walked him all the way to our yard by his <i>ear</i>.
No joke. When she forcibly let go, his ear lobe was blood read unwilling to
bend back to its normal shape, “<i>You apologize to these people RIGHT NOW! No
son of mine goes around kicking god damn animals</i> …” I’m paraphrasing
because she was losing her marbles, so I didn’t catch every ghastly word that
came out of her mouth, just bits and pieces. The bully took his grand ol’ time
coughing up an apology, but it came. Bookend Brother nodded reproachfully, “<i>I
ever hear tell of you bothering this dog again or my baby sister and I’ll snap
you like a twig, do you understand me, son?</i>” Bookend Brother’s nostrils
flared, the bully shrugged in agreement and he and his mother left. She
screamed and kicked at him the whole back around the curvy bend of the Bay stretch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So, Boots was raped. I woke up early one
morning to this God-awful noise coming from the back yard. Like, someone was
being murdered. I bolted out of my blankets and peered out the window. And,
there she was, my best fur friend, being overpowered by some old lab. To be
clear, at my tender age, I had no idea that they were <i>fornicating</i>. I
just knew that my dog was in trouble. I ran out of my room, tripped over the
hem of my nightdress and wiped out, knees full of carpet burn, all the while
yelling for my Mother, “<i>Mommmmmm, something is murdering the dog!!</i>” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I startled her out of a dead sleep. Way Cooler
Big Sister emerged from her room too, also started out of a dead sleep, “<i>What’s
all the bellaring for!?</i>” I forced them to look out my bedroom window to
see. The three of us gawking out into the back yard. I was frustrated that
either of them made a move to go save her. I <i>insisted</i> they try. Way
Cooler Big Sister shook her head and said, “<i>Those puppies are locked, no getting
them apart now until they are done</i>.” I was so confused, “<i>Done what?</i>”
My elders exchanged funny looks and my Mother said, “<i>I hope she doesn’t get
pregnant</i>.” Ohhhh. Yikes. And, guess what. She did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boots gave birth to a single puppy. A soft
chocolate brown mass she refused to feed. The newest member of our family, named
Brandy after a dearly departed stuffy of mine, looked like a little deformed alien.
Boots, immediately after giving birth, hid under the living room chesterfield
and stayed there for days. She wouldn’t eat or go pee. Nothing. And, if we so
much as thought of putting Brandy near her, she’d growl. A first. She barked
some but never growled. At anything. I was terrified the little alien muffin
might die. I told my Mother that if she did, I’d bury her where I tried to grow
my sunflowers. Luckily that didn’t happen. Brandy, hungrier than a hippo, found
sustenance in teeny tiny baby bottles. It was my joy to hold her in my hand and
watch her suckle the milk from the bottle. A few days of that and we tried laying
her next to Boots’ belly. This time, Boots didn’t resist. They slowly started
to bond. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brandy grew into hyper little thing. Father
Mine said she was bonkers because she was the only pup Boots had and her birth
was unpleasant. She didn’t like the Gaines Burgers so we bought her something
wet from a can, feeding her was also my responsibility. The crazy thing would
pretty much have the food swallowed by the time the dish hit the floor. Brandy
quickly became my <i>other</i> shadow. She got big and fat and an even deeper
chocolate brown with dark blue eyes. She lolled around like a pot-bellied pig.
Boots didn’t mind her as much once she grew more independent. Boots was brooding
and watchful while Brandy gallivanted without a care in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My world came crumbling down when Boots fell
ill. I was sick with worry the day Father Mine took her to the vet for a <i>check-up</i>.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, he figured since Boots was going,
he’d take Brandy too. He came back later that evening with <i>either</i> of my
furry friends. He told me Boots needed special care and because the dogs loved
each other he sent Boots with a doctor who could provide the care she needed,
and Brandy went with her so she wouldn’t be lonely which made since because
Boots was her mother. I cried and cried and cried and cried. I still cry sometimes
when I recall that vicious hole that tore through my chest to know I’d never
see them again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Years later, at a Sunday dinner at Father
Mine’s and Step Mum’s house, the subject of Boots and Brandy came up. It was
revealed that he had actually put Boots down because she was gravely ill and
sent Brandy off with good friends of his who had a tons of farm land for her to
run. I wanted to be mad, like I was about the sunflowers, but I understood. The
truth would have hurt me more. The lesson, sometimes the things we don’t know
won’t hurt us. And, the people who love us most, no matter our perception,
always have our best interests at heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I would never have been able to do this
project without dedicating a few pages to my fur babes. Family is family is
family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-1424749393800386232019-09-25T15:23:00.000-03:002019-09-25T15:50:45.932-03:00Sing Blue Silver<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjujPmUbYSLpCJ166wph-rCtSjYyEVdY-axEQAjnh4jOBXdKuAL9i2IfLwOJuijcqZqF3sLnxVzsxjzgdw-tK_iNgjrMa0bUIveEHyifGAW-skRyjTWrVrwwK-DGTgNvkoSb0XthLsiMRvD/s1600/2019-09-25+08.14.17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1042" data-original-width="1600" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjujPmUbYSLpCJ166wph-rCtSjYyEVdY-axEQAjnh4jOBXdKuAL9i2IfLwOJuijcqZqF3sLnxVzsxjzgdw-tK_iNgjrMa0bUIveEHyifGAW-skRyjTWrVrwwK-DGTgNvkoSb0XthLsiMRvD/s320/2019-09-25+08.14.17.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sing Blue Silver <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s true, Way Cooler Big Sister and I were
what the internet folk refer to these days as <i>Duranies</i>. Ask anyone who
knew us then and they’ll tell you our bedroom was peppered with posters and glossy
magazine pages, just the walls though, I drew the line at the ceiling. I <i>still</i>
know all their birthdays; it was <i>that</i> kind of love. <i>Wild Boys always
shine</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the heyday of our fandom, we <i>lived</i>
for weekends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Early Saturday morning,
Father Mine would drop by the video store across from the food court in Penhorn
Mall and rent us the VHS of Duran Duran’s first eleven videos, swing by and
grab McDonalds – the Big Mac combo with chocolate milkshakes and visit us in
Cow Bay by noonish. And, by visit I mean, pop in the side door, yell for one or
both of us, hand over the goods, peck our cheeks and then was gone again. Way
Cooler Big Sister would grab the greasy brown bags and head straight to the
living room to get everything going. I always lingered inside the door watching
Father Mine pull away. I’d stay put until the taillights disappeared, a little
part of my heart with him every single time. Ever grateful for a sighting and
his treats, always sad to see him go in such a hurry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This one Saturday, Way Cooler Big Sister,
a creature of habit, was already sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of
our space age TV impatiently waiting for me to press play on the VCR, “<i>Hurry
up, food’s getting cold!</i>” I hustled, threw a semi-cold fry into my mouth,
sat next to her, and performed my McDonald’s ritual – open up the <i>Styrofoam</i>
burger container, pour fries into the empty side, stuff one of the six hundred
napkins from the brown bag into the neck of my shirt and wipe the condensation
off of my milkshake cup. I took too long for her liking, so she reached up and dramatically
pressed play, “<i>They’ll be doing a reunion tour by the time you finish fussing
with your food</i>.” Once the tape was rolling, we started to chow down. Two
seconds into the video, we were half choking in contempt, it was the <i>wrong</i>
tape and were wholeheartedly <i>miffed</i>. She looked at me mid-chew and said,
“<i>What the hell is this shit!? Don’t tell me he rented the wrong one?</i>” I
checked the spine of the VHS case and looked at her wide-eyed, “<i>It says Sing
Blue Silver</i>. <i>Maybe they put the wrong tape in the wrong case?” </i>Fortunately,
in our ire, we spent an inappropriate amount of time being outraged and arguing
about how and why we ended up with the wrong video. It took a few to realize
that our swapped tape was a frickin’ goldmine. Father Mine <i>did</i> rent the
wrong video <i>but</i> it was <i>worth</i> the flub because what he got for us
instead was a brand spanking new documentary of Duran’s 1983/1984 World Tour. We’re
talking <i>never-before-seen-by-us</i> performances, candid shenanigans,
interviews – insight! Forget schlepping the pickles out of my Big Mac, we were
going around the <i>world</i> with <i>Duran Duran</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Needless to say, no one had access to the
TV until the video went back to the store. We logged countless ravenous hours,
memorizing every line, the details in every scene, every note they played, like
it was the last thing we’d ever do. We were, in a word, <i>mesmerized</i>. I
mean it wasn’t without some educational merit. We did learn a lot about how music
tours work, how important it is to obey backstage riders to include Stolichnaya
vodka, things about the FBI, and – what the word <i>contrived</i> means. </span><b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Contrived:
ADJECTIVE – having unnatural or false appearance or quality, artificial, labored</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">. My fellow
Duranies reading this will understand, they’ve probably already said it aloud.
The best nasally quote of all Nick Rhodes quotes. Ever. Nick, the keyboardist, born
June 8<sup>th</sup>, 1962, shoulder shimmy wizard of the band in case you’re
not familiar and didn’t believe that even to this day, I know their birth dates
better than about a third of my own family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sing Blue Silver, for us fans, was <i>most</i>
quotable. From the opening scene to the bitter end. In that opening scene, the
band are sat behind a long table being blinded by flashing cameras and bombarded
with questions. A reporter asks Andy Taylor, guitar player (was always my least
favorite member but Way Cooler Big Sister dug him), born February 16<sup>th</sup>,
1961, when he learned an instrument. Uproarious laughter ensured after his
salacious quip. Simon LeBon, singer, born October 27<sup>th</sup>, 1958, piped
up and said, “<i>I was born with my instrument</i>.” More riotous laugher
erupted. I won’t bore you with all the band details, but the best was when it
came time for Roger Taylor, drummer, born April 26<sup>th</sup>, 1960, to
answer. Bashful and at a loss for words, he tries but fails. Simon jumps in and
saves the day and says, “<i>Roger needs two hands for his!</i>” And the crowd
goes wild. We keeled over with stitches. And, for days and weeks and years to
come, those few lines were part of our vernacular. Along with another promo gig
the band had with Coca Cola and one of the corporate bigwigs called a very dashing
John Taylor, bassist, born June 20<sup>th</sup>, 1960, to the podium to speak
on behalf of the band. What does he say after all the fine remarks made about
the band and the soft drink’s partnership? “<i>I prefer Pepsi myself</i>.” I
can’t tell you how many times we uttered that back then, even in recent years. One
of us would be having or see something about Coke and come right out with it.
Funny how that happens, eh? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The band, in the most quotable scene for
us, were preparing for their now famous Francesco Scavullo photoshoot. Simon described
the dangers of undressing with press and cameras around, “<i>Cause if you take
your trousers off in front of people, they’ll say things like, ‘Simon LeBon
wears yellow underwear and they’ll accuse you of having chubby legs and a gut’</i>”
When we folded laundry or any other random reason we’d give it up, “<i>Simon LeBon
wears yellow underwear</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Father Mine ended up buying the copy from
the video store for us so he didn’t have to keep renting it. It was the right
thing to do. It cut down on the time he spent going to the mall, and the gas.
It was amazing to have it at our disposal day and night. The only drawback was,
since the trips to the video store stopped, we saw Father Mine less and less on
weekends. I found myself many a time, like clockwork, going to the side door to
wait for him then would remember when he didn’t’ come that he wasn’t. I held on
to those weekend days for as long as I could. And, now, I hold on tight to the
memories of sitting on the floor with Way Cooler Big Sister, glued to the
screen, elbowing each other to make sure we don’t miss the good parts when in
fact <i>we</i> were the good parts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Finding the accompanying photo is what prompted
this little piece about Kel and I. It all flooded back. And, maybe it isn’t as
funny as some of the others I wrote, seeing us in my mind’s eye losing our holy
shit because Dad brought down the wrong tape is <i>hilarious</i>. I mean, just
look at us. Who do we think we are?! Ahaha! We thought we were the shit. No
doubt. We bonded so deeply over our love for the band and learned so much. We
discovered fashion and books and art and other music. We found friends we’d
otherwise never met. One more Saturday on the floor gnawing a cold Big Mac would
be a dream come true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-41992823993093904602019-09-24T15:05:00.000-03:002019-09-25T08:19:47.330-03:00Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnyM2AYBlR4sXnQ-gh1-26LVqu_k834GvUFwJlX_90ZpCnDT8u8uMOZCIJLWy58Q3PF9irEZuLwIMoqmyLaW-Zn0_yF_LWVD4P6E6-q8f1KiIGK8hnMNDpJqjEB9y3L_ZIdtkb286kOXka/s1600/2019-09-25+08.13.49+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1285" data-original-width="1600" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnyM2AYBlR4sXnQ-gh1-26LVqu_k834GvUFwJlX_90ZpCnDT8u8uMOZCIJLWy58Q3PF9irEZuLwIMoqmyLaW-Zn0_yF_LWVD4P6E6-q8f1KiIGK8hnMNDpJqjEB9y3L_ZIdtkb286kOXka/s320/2019-09-25+08.13.49+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The first and only
vacation I took out of Nova Scotia with Father Mine and Step Mum was in the
spring of 1988. With bulging suitcase in toe (I still have not learned how to
pack <i>light</i>), I gleefully bid my gang adieu (except LP who came with me
as my plus one), boarded an airplane for the first time in my life, a plane
Orlando bound. Disney World or bust. I felt super worldly sitting next to the
window, a brand <i>new-to-me</i> pair of sunglasses atop my head (pinched from
Rock Star Brother but shush don’t tell him), and a carry-on full of snacks and
a fancy bottle of Evian water. I was cool as a cucumber until the plane started
to ascend, its nose pointing in a Heavenly direction. I almost choked on the
complimentary peanuts I popped in my mouth as we gained speed and rose higher
into the air. I was quite certain I was going to have a heart attack and end up
in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wrong</i> Magic Kingdom. Once we
leveled out amid a mirage of billowing clouds, my stomach returned to its rightful
place and my heart slid back into place after almost coming out of my mouth.
And, for the next few hours everything was right with the world. Smooth
sailing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Landing in Florida
was like something out of a beauteous reverie, even <i>better</i> than the
daydreams I’d been conjuring up pre-departure. We left the chill of early
spring in Nova Scotia behind for an easy breezy dry delightful heat. So long dampness,
my old friend! Upon arrival, the glorious sun was slowly starting to sink into the
Orlando horizon painting everything with a buttery haze that shone through the
languid palm trees. Anyone who knows me knows I <i>love</i> palms, and, that
was the <i>exact</i> moment I fell in love with them. A short stint inside the
busy airport to retrieve our baggage, acquire our rental car, and we were on
our way to home for the next week. Our hotel reminded me of a larger scale ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Melrose</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Place’</i>. And the pool, a curvy blue lagoon lined with uniform white long
lazy lawn chairs. It was an intense thrill for a nerdy kid from Cow Bay to be
in such exquisite surroundings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">One of our first
adventures was Sea World. Father Mine, who refused to ask for directions when
he got us lost in the middle of an orange grove, I mean <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">deep </i>in an orange grove. So much so that the farmer dude who
flagged us down to politely tell us to get lost, offered to let us pick an
orange each to take with us. Father Mine, his pride a little bruised, declined
and hightailed it out of there lickety split. Our trip to Sea World really made
me miss Way Cooler Big Sister who was back home working. I felt a little guilty
seeing whales in person without her even though we found their being in
captivity cruel. I won’t lie, while waiting for Shamu’s show to begin, thoughts
of the movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Orca’ </i>crossed my mind.
You remember it, the gritty film about a callous profiteering fisherman who
unwittingly kills the pregnant mate of a clever killer whale. The fisherman
then becomes the target of the enraged, grief-stricken creature. It’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Jaws’ </i>meets <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Moby Dick’. </i>That pivotal scene where the Mama Orca is strung up on
the boat and miscarries Baby Orca traumatized me for life. No scene in any
horror movie ever disturbed me as much. The sound of the Mama Orca screaming
out in pain, the Papa Orca replying with deafening rage, and the sight and plop
of Baby Orca on the ship’s deck. I plead with you, do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>Google the scene. Nope. Don’t do it. I am happy to report there
was no screeching from the pool, nothing put playfulness expert whale
acrobatics. It was awe-inspiring. Their size, their smarts, their style. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We got some
serious shopping done in the greater Orlando area. I hit the mall hard. I
bought myself a bright blue California Raisin tee, peach shorts, Rick Astley’s
‘<i>Wherever You Are</i>’ and Pebbles’ self-titled cassettes, and a new Walkman
for the plane ride home. As a side note, who didn’t own the Rick Astley!? And,
I only bought the Pebbles tape because I kept missing being able to dub ‘<i>Mercedes
Boy</i>’ from the radio. Not that I need to explain myself, I’m not ashamed! Our
shopping day is kind of a blur. Step Mum probably bought new fluffy towels and
LP bought Lip Smackers and a kitschy Florida tee. Of course, Father Mine was
nowhere to be found until we met up for a quick supper and a ride on a
riverboat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Next stop, Walt’s
World. Walt Disney. Me and Walt, we share the same birthday, which is also the
date Mozart died but I digress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Disney was, for
lack of a better word, magical. In <i>every</i> sense of the word. I got
goosebumps when I passed through the entrance to Epcot Center. They were still working
on it so we weren’t as thrilled as we <i>could </i>have been had we gone ten
years <i>later</i>. I did love the World Pavilions, especially France boasting
a replica of the Eiffel Tower. Much like palm trees, I fell head over heals with
Paris during my Florida trip. I <i>loved</i> the Haunted Mansion, a New Orleans
<i>antebellum manse</i> that was more comical than scary. I particularly
enjoyed when the little cart exited the house and if you looked in the mirrored
walls alongside of you, it looked as though a ghoul had hitched a ride with us.
I stood in the long line for Space Mountain but as soon as it was our turn to
hunker down and buckle up in one of the buckets I chickened out. LP shot off
into the rollercoaster abyss with a total stranger and when she emerged from
the other side her face was a brilliant shade of alien green. She said it went
so fast one of her hair combs blew out of the side of her head. Father Mine and
Step Mum accompanied us for the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. The tiny vessel
chugged along the canal and then did an ungodly drop. Father Mine cursed. And,
when it dropped the second time down into the main caves of the attraction, he
cursed more, “<i>Is this a god damn roller coaster!? Jesus Christ</i>.” We
busted, “<i>Dead men tell no tales, Dad</i>.” He sucked his teeth and shook his
head remaining quiet as our little boat floated by a slew of animatronic
pirates and pillaging. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">One of my favorite
days was the day LP and I got to stay behind at the hotel for the day while the
parentals went off on their own. We lounged by the pool like two starlets
awaiting Oscar noms. I wore my favorite maroon strapless one-piece bathing suit
and my John Taylor tee (circa ‘<i>Sing Blue Silver</i>’) over top to hide my
back fat while I floated around on a flutter board. While I fluttered, I watched
an <i>oh so glamorous</i> fashion show circle around the deluxe oasis. I started
to get prune-like so I made my way to our lawn chairs and asked my bud if she
could share sunscreen. She happily agreed since she had just bought something
new from the vendors’ poolside, so she tossed me the goop she brought from
home. I <i>bravely</i> shucked John from my glut and slathered myself head to
toe with the silky lotion, got horizontal in my swanky chair, and loafed.
Unbeknownst to me, LP shared her lotion that was SPF ZERO while what she bought
poolside and coated her own self in was like SPF TWO MILLION. I noticed I was a
little <i>pink</i> in the mirror as we got ready for the parentals to come back
and pick us up for a dinner outing. I felt a little queasy on the ride over. On
the small walk to the non-descript restaurant, Father Mine stopped to say hello
to folks he knew. It boggled the mind he could be in a whole other country and
still bump into people he knew for a longwinded chin wag. There was a bit of a wait
to be seated. I leaned on the wall to hold myself up due to the fact the world
was slowly started swirling like a pastel kaleidoscope, voices slurred, my eyes
rolled. I attempted to straighten myself up, talk myself back but grabbed hold
of Father Mine’s arm instead, startling him. Sun stroke. A <i>bad </i>case. Mad
as a Hatter, he drove LP and I back to the hotel, chewing me out for not being
more careful in the sun. The more he moaned the deeper the burn sunk into my
teenage flesh. That’s when LP confessed and told me the SPF she gave me was
sub-zero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Father Mine was not impressed
and scolded me <i>again</i> for not noticing. LP was spared a tongue lashing
because she was holding the <i>guest</i> card. Heck, <i>I </i>trusted my bud to
not give me sunscreen that would brand me. Father Mine squealed the car tires
as he and Step Mum drove off to dinner, “<i>Order room service. Make sure you
eat. Get some water and hydrate. We’ll be back later</i>.” Still Mad as a
Hatter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I made the grave
mistake of taking a cool shower in a feeble attempt to calm down. It <b>bolded</b>
my burn blazing red. From my hair line to the tips of my toes, just on the
front side of me, I was covered. It felt like my body was one giant bee sting.
My skin was tight and aflame. I laid on my bed in cool pajamas, arms and legs
outstretched and I didn’t move until our Cokes and generous plates of stir-fry
arrived. There was a knock our door, “<i>Ello, room service</i>.” The young man
who wheeled our grub in was a lovely and quick-witted Jamaican. He took one
look at me and in his heavy accent said, “<i>O my girl, when you are finished
with dat sunburn you’ll be as black as me</i>!” I confess, I wasn’t exactly
sure I was supposed to laugh but when he threw his head back in it, I joined in.
He took pity on my amateurish Floridian stance and told me if I needed
anything, a medic, an aloe plant, to let him know. How embarrassing, eh?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The plane ride
home was hell. I was sat between LP and Father Mine. To add insult to injury,
he wouldn’t let me have the aisle seat even though it’d be more comfortable for
me to rest my crispy limbs. It was the most painful few hours of my life.
Father Mine would occasionally nudge my charred flesh with the rough elbow of
his sweater and grin when I winced. It may have been the only time in my whole
life that I felt any kind of contempt for him. My Mother was waiting for me
when I got home. I knew she’d lavish the kind of support and comfort I
required. The bends of my arms were bubbled by the time I reached my bed, my
bed with cold soft cotton sheets my Mother had rolled down for me to slip into.
The blisters were sore and raised, threatening to burst. A one week vacation to
Florida turned into two weeks off from school. It took good few days to be able
to not hurt and be able to put socks on my feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">While I
recuperated from my burn, LP stopped taking my calls. She hugged me gently due
to my third degree burns and thanked us all for a wonderful trip and said she’d
call me later. We waited until she was safely inside her apartment building
with her Mom. I should mention that before we went on our trip, she moved into
the city and started going to another school. She never called. I tried her a
bunch of times, but she wouldn’t return any of my calls, even when I left
messages with her Mom. It was the strangest thing. I couldn’t understand after
all the fun we had singing and dancing at the Country Bear Jamboree, buying
Goofy tees, and a stuffed Donald Duck for Way Cooler Big Sister, eating greasy
hamburgers and fries, having our picture taken with various Disney characters –
I couldn’t understand her silence. That was 1987 and we haven’t spoken since.
Not all friendships are meant to last, not even with the awe of the spectacular
Magic Kingdom fireworks display overhead. It was a heartbreak as much as it was
an excellent adventure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It has always been
important to me, even from a young age, to foster positive and healthy
relationships – both with my family and friends. Our trip to the US was so much
fun and even as an adult I’m perplexed by the gaslighting behavior of my then
friend. There were no signs of discord (aside from the sunscreen fiasco but we
mostly laughed about it on the drive between the airport and her house). There
were no warnings. I was a child with abandonment issues (which I haven’t
written much about yet) so the mysterious loss of my friend, the only one who
has memories of any of the above, was crushing. I’m a lesson learner. And, from
her clear and present rejection, fully realized the only constant in life is
change and that her behavior was more of a reflection on her character than on
mine. Heavy stuff for a kid, pure gold for an adult to keep in mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-48229142579266481202019-09-18T07:14:00.000-03:002019-09-18T07:14:43.329-03:00Whiz/Bang<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbCCUtdHXnpSfrzfxpogQtjDDskVUKogNNMwlhrE_whyphenhyphenoIBRFlQMBb_b15vq-lzfgXu1Nyao2dyfxzWCuvS1baVXS12SbDE0SQCtHuJP4_Ao2zVl3mXF3A9UYXI-J1H08H-KqYEOqYY7W/s1600/camper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="564" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbCCUtdHXnpSfrzfxpogQtjDDskVUKogNNMwlhrE_whyphenhyphenoIBRFlQMBb_b15vq-lzfgXu1Nyao2dyfxzWCuvS1baVXS12SbDE0SQCtHuJP4_Ao2zVl3mXF3A9UYXI-J1H08H-KqYEOqYY7W/s320/camper.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Whiz/Bang</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">blindsided<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by
his one-line rebuke <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">who is <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">always</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> irrepressibly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">cheerful <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">is
now reduced to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">a
<i>character</i> in <i>conflict</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">watching
him drive away<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">w/o
sufficient explanation<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
dust kicking up a cloud<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">under
the threadbare tires of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">his
clattering camper van<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>whiz/bang<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
know, I know. Another small poem. I couldn’t help myself!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-14822929131008452262019-09-17T21:55:00.000-03:002019-09-17T21:55:15.918-03:00Come Dancing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1wNr9M3pXTAPdqM2KuVWlZOnA_7_xaYfPt_OTADjbvjXkzitLExzPC6wZiNvbmRPfo3b2QqMyfOrQoTaiZRat476ivGs-4Dq2mEZ99pGq6STKWc86IQBe5mTtbLMLIm2Vr0ziDDnBb0a5/s1600/tribe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="937" data-original-width="960" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1wNr9M3pXTAPdqM2KuVWlZOnA_7_xaYfPt_OTADjbvjXkzitLExzPC6wZiNvbmRPfo3b2QqMyfOrQoTaiZRat476ivGs-4Dq2mEZ99pGq6STKWc86IQBe5mTtbLMLIm2Vr0ziDDnBb0a5/s320/tribe.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Way Cooler Big Sister sandwiched between a Hurshman and Greener)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Come Dancing </b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s fortunate that I didn’t learn the
art of making friends from Way Cooler Big Sister, but, I’ll get to that in a
minute. When I was nine years old, she was nineteen. This meant she was finally
able to enter the bars <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">legally</i> to see
Rock Star Brother’s band play. Being <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">legal
</i>didn’t prevent her from going <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">before </i>she
turned nineteen. In those days, she just grabbed her best bud, a guitar case,
and strutted her feathered bangs in alongside Rock Star Brother’s swanky shoulder
pads. I envied her more than I can describe. I wanted so badly to go with them.
I’d go to sleep and wish when I woke up I was of age, so I could hang with
them, like a grown-up instead of just being the lonely pipsqueak who stayed up
all hours of the night just to hear all their stories of the exciting nightlife,
pulsing somewhere beyond the thick trees of Cow Bay. They’d come home reeking
of wine coolers, cigarette smoke, and adventure. The first hint of their
returning home, taxi headlights in the drive, the late-night laughter coming up
the side steps snapped me wide awake, all the sand from the Sandman rubbed from
my innocent eyes, sitting with the bedside lamps on, waiting for them to pour
through our shared bedroom door to regale me with tall tales of the evenings
events. I hung on their every word, aching to be older, in the circle,
somewhere in the center, right where they all were, in the thick, instead of
living vicariously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Way Cooler Big Sister’s lifelong friend
and crazy sidekick, Greener, would keep me up until dawn hooting and hollering.
It’s a good thing that our bedroom was in the basement, Brother Bear’s old room
where his epic stereo and gruff growl once lived, or else they/we’d have had
the whole house awake. Greener’s laugh, more a cackle, it boomed and echoed. If
my Mother heard it, she didn’t say anything, but then again, when she was down
for the count, logs were sawing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This one night, as told by the Terrible
Two, they were ravenous after copious amounts of Ten Penny beers. Way Cooler Big
Sister ducked into a pizza joint a stone’s throw from the bar, and bought a
full size pizza. She doled out slices of the pie to the band which left two
left, one for her, and one for Greener. Greener, sitting on the bench just
inside the side door, was busy flapping her lips. She had her hand out for her
slice but wasn’t paying attention to Way Cooler Big Sister handing it over. It
fell from Way Cooler Big Sister’s hand and landed cheese side down on the
greasy van floor. Greener, still deep in conversation, didn’t notice that Way
Cooler Big Sister picked it up, wiped off some of the gunk that may or may not
have stuck to the greasy goodness, and put it in her hand. Greener, oblivious,
none-the-wiser, chowed down. It wasn’t until that night in our basement
bedroom, the same one that once housed Brother Bear’s most excellent music
collection, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">after </i>the pizza was
partially digested, Way Cooler Big Sister confessed to dropping it on the floor
and let her eat it anyway. Greener’s reaction was an ear-splitting, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ohhhhh my GOD</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kellllly!</i>” Way Cooler Big Sister erupted in gut-busting laughter. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That </i>jolted my Mother who pounded her
heel on the floor above and bellared for them to settle down. That only made
them laugh more. I was in acquitted awe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Most of their stories, or the ones I
remember most vividly, and the ones Way Cooler Big Sister and Greener would
often reminisce about, revolved around food. Another similar story came from a
night they arrived home late from some bar in the wild. After a night of
drinking, dancing, and minor damnation, they were famished. Greener, was
chilling with the radio on in our room, sideways from hooch. Way Cooler Big
Sister asked me to come up to the kitchen with her to help her make food and
carry it downstairs. Obviously, I was agreeable. Anything to be in the fray. I
poured them each tall glasses of chocolate milk while put together two fried
egg sandwiches. Way Cooler Big Sister, half sideways herself, kept laughing at
them in the frying pan, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Look at them,
they look like two deep fried tits and big yellow nipples!</i>” I’m sure my
face turned ten shades of red. I stood guard until she plunked the rubberish
eggs inside fresh white buttered bread, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You
carry down the milk and I’ll carry the plates.</i>” I went on ahead slow to
steady the frothy milk. She followed behind in a bit more of a hurry and lost
her balance a few steps down the two million that led downstairs. In her
topsy-turvy state, the plate in her ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Breakfast
in America’ </i>pose, stacked with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">both </i>sandwiches,
teeters. The top one drops to floor, one piece of bread flies and the deep
fried tit hit the striped stair carpet. We had a cat and a dog then, so you can
imagine what that rubber boob looked like when she picked it up and tossed it
back between its bread. She was laughing her fool head off, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I ain’t making another one! Shhh don’t tell
Greener!</i>” Better her than me I thought. Poor Greener. We made it downstairs
in one piece, me with the sloshing milk, Way Cooler Big Sister with something
akin to food. She passed the blasphemous top sandwich to her supposed best
friend who was so hungry I’m not even sure she tasted it, in fact, she may have
swallowed whole. Once she finished it, Way Cooler Big Sister exploded in a fit
of giggles. Greener gave her one of those beady side-eyed ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout Willis</i>’ looks. That made Way Cooler Big
Sister laugh harder. What do you want to make a bet my Mother’s heel met the
floor above when she revealed the truth, that her fried egg sandwich’s
condiment was cat dander? Never a dull moment with those two. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now, can you see why I’d never take cues
from her when it came to the art of friendship? I kid. Despite the fact that
they tortured each other on a regular basis, they had each other’s backs. Thick
and thin. And boy, for the two of them, there was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a lot</i> of thin. In it all, furry food, rip-snorting fights, and
everything in between, the friendship lasted a lifetime. That’s something to
emulate. I may not feed my friends spoiled wares but I put my heart and soul
into caring for them, standing shoulder to shoulder, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">being </i>a shoulder, shouldering their burdens, and loving the snot
out of them. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That </i>is what I culled
from Way Cooler Big Sister and Greener’s union. Ride or die. Even in death. It
rings true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The day came when it was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my </i>turn to carry guitar cases and dance
until the sun came up. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My </i>turn to
venture out beyond the suburbs and taste life. And, Way Cooler Big Sister,
while she’d accompany me sometimes, there were many a time she didn’t, and in a
reversal of roles, she’d wait up for me to hear the goings on. I made a point
of making my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">own </i>snacks though!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Come
Dancing</i>’ by The Kinks is one of my all-time favorite songs from back in our
video-obsessed youth. Way Cooler Big Sister and I loved the video, and, in many
ways, the meaning paralleled our life. The video, set in pre-rock music-halls
days, is about how through the passing of time, things and people change, yet,
certain things remain the same. We may have grown up and in lean ways, grew
apart, but there was always love and music and laughter and friendship. Regardless
of the trials, the bond was intact. Until she took her last breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I sat for a good while this evening
writing this small piece of creative non-fiction for my little project,
enjoying the memories of my dearly departed sister and a friend she’s had her
whole life, who is like my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">other</i>
crazy sister. I’d been thinking of these little stories but couldn’t get the
first line out for the life of me. Mom said something in passing and it
sparked, so I sat down to write. I was almost finished when I received a
message that Greener requires all of our good thoughts and positive vibes
tonight into the coming days. It brought tears to my eyes, to think of her and
Kelly the way they were when I was young, and know she’s in a delicate way.
Maybe the Universe felt it important work tonight?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If you’ve got a spare prayer, please pay
it forward to the consumer of furry food. I know she’d appreciate it. With all
her heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-24112700735303440222019-09-12T07:18:00.000-03:002019-09-12T12:05:50.837-03:00Sleep with One Eye Open (A Splice)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibjBXQRMTnCk6ckbp_9EyvHR2MpVJV4gOtaQFAPnpuQZSn07Uw5tYfXbP87ReeUmmkerqRK-l9o3RgdJiLHlhw27j_jIjMw9zyjmRPEapA0PLgLI4Ru_Vpzm8StYKRBrYE4VUwWnCyO56d/s1600/friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="500" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibjBXQRMTnCk6ckbp_9EyvHR2MpVJV4gOtaQFAPnpuQZSn07Uw5tYfXbP87ReeUmmkerqRK-l9o3RgdJiLHlhw27j_jIjMw9zyjmRPEapA0PLgLI4Ru_Vpzm8StYKRBrYE4VUwWnCyO56d/s320/friends.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sleep with One Eye
Open<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I had a small Gaggle of girlfriends in
elementary school who stuck throughout much of junior high. Through growing
pains, birthday parties, awkward school photos, pimples, perms, cafeteria
lunches, crushes, school dances, even the big hair/hammer pants phases. Perhaps
we were nerds of epic proportions in our own individual rights, but we were ‘<i>Sisterhood
of the Travelling Pants</i>’ cool. The kind of cool like JH who choreographs a
dance routine with you to Stacey Q’s ‘<i>Two of Heart</i>’ and then climbs on a
stage to perform it while lip-syncing it in front of the whole student body for
the talent show. We were all <i>very</i> different, but we stuck together like
glue for a short period of time. I mean, because of them, I <i>graduated</i> to
that kind of cool. Prior to having friends like them, I was the hermit with the
headphones, poking protruding frog bellies in ponds, running through the woods
without a care in the world about my hair, about make-up, or boys. And, to be
honest, I still don’t think I care about boys. Such as they are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">One Saturday night, many moons ago, the Gaggle
got together for a sleepover. Father Mine took me to Chickens (aka Lloyd’s
Supermarket) so I could gather treats for my pals and rent a movie from the
video store. I arrived at SM’s house with my pillow, a blanket, toothbrush, and
pajamas in a big black garbage bag and joined them in her rec-room. I was the
last to arrive but was greeted with cheer since I held all the provisions and
our evening’s shenanigans. SM’s parents ordered us pizza. We each sat on our
makeshift beds with giant pizza wedges flopped on paper plates gabbing about
everything and nothing. Those were the things that made sleepovers great.
Making your bed on the floor next to your best buds. The camaraderie, the ease.
Well, for the most part. I don’t know about them but as a kid with a poop
problem, I was also a pre-teen/teen with one too. I prayed to be constipated
until my arse got home and met my own toilet seat again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So yeah, pizza, monkeyshines, girl talk,
music, dancing, and then finally it was time to curl up with our movie. When
asked what I rented, I knelt up gleefully, produced the clunky black VHS case
and said, “<i>Feast your eyes on this! Evil Dead</i>.” Nothing but shrieks and
groans from the peanut gallery. CR ceased fishing something stuck in her braces
to hide her head under her pillow in protest and let go of a muffled, “<i>Noooooooo!</i>”
AS grumbled under her breath that her Mother would kill her if she found out
she watched <i>that</i> kind of movie. I had to wait to press play until every
one of them emptied their bladders out of fear they’d pee themselves from
fright. For a Gaggle of cool gals, they were wusses I thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">To refresh your memory, ‘<i>Evil Dead</i>’
(now a shagged-out horror trope) was a low-budget wonder of the early 1980s. A
group of young people hike to a deep-woods cabin for a weekend getaway where
they find an old book, ‘<i>Necronomicon</i>’, whose text reawakens the dead
when read aloud. And, guess what, they read it aloud! Inadvertently releasing a
flood of evil. If I remember it correctly, the single girl, maybe even the
fifth wheel of the group is the one violently pillaged by the insidious trees.
When her friends realize she’s three sheets to the evil, they lock her down in
the cellar and chain the hatch door. Afterward, horrors abound. And
continually, near shits, giggles, and gross-outs permeated the dank rec-room. I
traumatized my pals. And, even though I didn’t admit so, I distressed <i>myself</i>.
I played like I was unaffected, an Oscar-winning performance no less. Truth be
told, it was a near-cauliflower pants incident. To this day, I still have
creeped out flashes of the possessed friend railing against the cellar hatch,
opening it enough to stab an exposed ankle with a <i>pencil</i>. I didn’t have
any use for erasers anytime soon after <i>that</i> sleepover. My stomach pained
like the dickens. I was constipated for <i>days</i> after. LP puked so I guess
I wasn’t the worst. CR whimpered in her sleep, and SM ended up sleeping in her
own bed, safe and sound under the protection of her own covers. It was a little
unfair that the rest of us had to toss and turn enduring the stale stench of
well-brought up pepperoni pizza and sour cream and onion chips. I was lucky they
still loved me the next day. I mean, I <i>think </i>they did. I hope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Speaking of scary movies, Rock Star
Brother brought me to the brink of sheer terror <i>twice</i> in my young life.
The first was when he made me watch the 1979 film adaptation of Poe’s ‘<i>The
Fall of the House of Usher</i>’. I remember it like it was yesterday. Our
living-room was pitch black except for the eerie TV glow and the smolder of
dying flames in our fireplace. I was wearing a new nightgown, fleecy white with
a frilly collar, laced up in the front with bright red silk. Rock Star Brother
and Most Beautiful Girlfriend were snuggled up on the chesterfield. I was
sitting, quite literally petrified, in the rocking chair that was not rocking
unless you counted my extreme trembling after witnessing Marlene Usher’s crazed
white hair. I can’t say what it was about her demented appearance exactly that
crippled me with fear. I pretended not to be scared in front of the Royal
Couple but when I went to bed, I was sure she was slinking down our hallway,
the shadow of her wild hair growing bigger and bigger with each tiptoe. I let
out a scream in the dark that sent my Mother running in, “<i>Lord Moses, child!
What’s the matter!?</i>” I told her Madeline Usher was in the hallway and was
coming to get me. She sighed, “<i>You’re going to curdle my blood into a Jesus
clot! My kidneys are too close to my eyes for this!</i>” She told me no more
scary movies with Rock Star Brother and scolded him for letting me watch in the
first place. I could hear him chuckling all the way in in my room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of course, Rock Star Brother was a bit of
a rebel and didn’t heed our Mother’s warning. It wasn’t long after that he sat
me down with a cold glass of chocolate milk, a bowl of popcorn, pulled the TV
in the basement inches away from the downstairs chesterfield and fired up the ‘<i>The
Exorcist</i>’. I had <i>no</i> idea what I was getting myself into when I
agreed to his suggestion of snacks and a movie. <i>No</i> idea. There, in the
darkness of the bottom level of our house, I watched an innocent girl take on a
Demon that made her snarl and spit and growl and levitate and stab herself in
the bird with a crucifix. I almost cried when she spewed, “<i>Your mother sucks
cocks in helllll …</i>” I looked at Rock Star Brother, wide-eyed and mortified,
“<i>What the HECK did she say!? Sucks a what!?</i>” I was aghast, scared stiff,
certifiably horror-struck; all Rock Star Brother could do was laugh. Looking
back now, it is as plain as the nose on my face, his goal was to scare the
living hell out of me. Also, I spilled half of my chocolate milk on my
housecoat so there’s that. It didn’t help that he had the volume turned <i>alllll</i>
the way up. He had rock ‘n’ roll ears even back then and he was just as much of
a spring chicken as I was. It might be one of the greatest horror films of all
time but even to this day, after ‘<i>Insidious</i>’ and ‘<i>The Strangers</i>’,
the possession of Linda Blair and the subsequent exorcism still chills me deep
in my bones. As an adult, I’d see it on the TV grid while channel surfing and
consider it a defiant act to <i>dare</i> turn it on for the quick fright I knew
would come. No one wished more than me, even now, that I could be just as oblivious
of her possession as she was in the end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The power of Christ compels you … <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">***</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Another wee bit for my creative non-fiction project. I really wish I had time each day to sit and write a little bit on it. I guess I do, I just have to make sure I make the time. It's been hard of late, but I should be better, for art's sake. Right? Maybe I'll write tonight before bed instead of reading. Although, reading is helping me sleep now that a small bout of insomnia has set in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Until the next installment! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In propinquity,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Nic</span></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-37689316002732074622019-09-09T13:55:00.000-03:002019-09-09T13:55:43.142-03:00In The Wreckage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBjCMFD4IcZeM6Re5oowmCAXZIOok71EPz_-o6Ne5ibix2zFhqulwQVJCAtvhiDjx0USBaSE52cl6BgbQiyuiPtIZQAoz-YoFDmUXYFXO12ziaS8NSPv6CpOr6NXBU6MQjXAxG5Z-HOQBf/s1600/pasted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="331" data-original-width="326" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBjCMFD4IcZeM6Re5oowmCAXZIOok71EPz_-o6Ne5ibix2zFhqulwQVJCAtvhiDjx0USBaSE52cl6BgbQiyuiPtIZQAoz-YoFDmUXYFXO12ziaS8NSPv6CpOr6NXBU6MQjXAxG5Z-HOQBf/s320/pasted.jpg" width="315" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>In the Wreckage</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
wreckage<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of
poetry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">heeding
music made <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">too loud <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">too lurid<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">sentences
me to ruinous<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">tumult<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Been
a little obsessed with tiny poems of late. I appreciate their punch, the
brevity, and their form. So much fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7616194239142532775.post-77484294867868255512019-08-29T11:29:00.001-03:002019-08-29T11:29:15.473-03:00He Knows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjLrxcHbqzOWpnuvtlylAKckK_6joytTgmzXTgpZUdFZlov8p7si85DjHGvbLHnDq2p8C3ia6mG-S4ptpiFn7XpsoZdvBzY69L-EHNsdtJ2HXF3OM5dUY4pVDqQ08f8cMQsk_EXoCnPYw/s1600/scarf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="564" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjLrxcHbqzOWpnuvtlylAKckK_6joytTgmzXTgpZUdFZlov8p7si85DjHGvbLHnDq2p8C3ia6mG-S4ptpiFn7XpsoZdvBzY69L-EHNsdtJ2HXF3OM5dUY4pVDqQ08f8cMQsk_EXoCnPYw/s320/scarf.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>He
Knows</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">on
a slate grey morning in winter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
sat at the kitchen nook with <i>him<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">listening
to the sound of rustling<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">paper
& the cool intonation of his<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">bitter
insights – I can only offer a<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">series
of rueful laughs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>he <i>knows</i> that he is adored<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Scribbled
a little something down while eating my breakfast today. It’s one of those stolen
moments where I pecked without remembering I even did it. I love the feeling of
coming out of those little creative hazes to discover a verse or a paragraph or
a story before me. Nothing like it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
propinquity,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Nicole Myers - Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06165273057134046175noreply@blogger.com0