Ramble: I Miss You Mom

I haven’t posted for a while because my Mom was in and out of the hospital in the last month, and on January 16 she peacefully passed away. Free at last from the many years of struggle with her health. 

It is strange how we create a routine out of the obligations of life. A pattern is shaped from necessity and reluctantly overlaid. Eight years ago my father died, and my mom asked me to come see her more often. At first it was every other week. Somewhere in there it became a weekly visit. Usually on a Saturday, I’d be up by 6am and on my way. The 2-hour drive a quiet pleasant meditation through lovely Ontario country-side. A stop for a coffee. Sometimes a pause for walk on a trail.
I’d stop at the grocery store along the way and get what was needed, And arrive at my Mom’s usually before 9AM. We would have breakfast, discuss what was new and news, make a to-do list of what needed doing, Check the sump-pump, change the filters, light-bulbs, garden, lawn…whatever. Somewhere in there the PSW would arrive and help my mom with her personal care.
Then my mom and I would have lunch, and we’d cook something extra for the fridge and freezer. Sometimes we would bake – tea biscuits, cake, cookies – so my mom would have goodies to offer her many guests through the week. Her local church/community was simply amazing for how they took turns visiting her each evening.
Sometimes I’d stay for dinner, but usually by 4 pm I’d be heading back on the trek back the other way to my own home. Back to my own to-do list that was waiting for me.
Yes there were times I would feel trapped by the pattern of obligation. Times I just felt too tired, too overwhelmed…
And still I would go – maybe shifting the visit to a Monday…
I am not writing this to grumble and brag. I did what I did because I was available and I could. It was my choice. I am writing this because it became such a part of my life that today, this morning, In this here and now of quiet reflection, I realize and I feel the empty space that is here and now. It feels odd not planning a shopping list, gathering the tools to bring, creating a menu, finding a recipe…
I am writing not to say what I did, but to say how much it is missed. 

Ramble: Just Saying

There are words inside me. And no one to hear them. They float on the tip of my tongue in swirling poetic tones. Waiting for the moment to arrive and launch their crisp sonorous meters into the air. I stay silent because I do not dare to break the silence when none are near to hear or care.

The ticking clock winds down past the hour into the next and then around again, clicking into the sunset crawling across the eastern walls of my living room. Gone gone gone much to soon is the charm of my youthful truth spilling out from my pain into the wounded evening light bleeding from behind the clouds.

And there it is then. The finality of the moment breaching the infinity of our progress into some other tomorrow we never imagined happening. It is always just there. Out of sight and out of mind. Lurking between here and the garden gate.

And so now I sleep. Deeply. Forlornly. Avoiding my fate. Avoiding the light. Avoiding the dawn that will rattle me awake,

Ramble: Sleeping Muses; Silent Voices

Some days are better than other days. And some days are more bitter.

Here I drift within the doldrums of darkness. I am creatively unsparked. Where my writer’s heart should be playful beating out a cadence for each line – there is only the flat-lined hum of cardiac failure. Does anyone even read this blog anymore? Why would they? There is nothing new here. No new words and thoughtful inspirations. Just the ongoing recycling of hunger unfulfilled.

I need a new shtick.  A new gimmick for a new audience. I could write about food and beverage. Indulge in fine craft beers paired with exotic hand-crafted local cheeses. Spew sensual sentences about the tantalizing tastes teasing my tongue with balanced tones of esters and glucose exciting my hunger for more. And no I cannot do that. I would be lost in my enjoyment of the food and forget to write my thoughts.

Oye.  Sports? Ick. Music? <yawn>

Book reviews – oh wait I would have to start reading again. And I find I get side-tracked by wondering why the writer decided to branch the story away from an enticing side-quest into the normal well-worn plot points of what sells books. Ah yes – I guess that answers that thought. I have a dozen books strew around my house partially read and bookmarked inside and beneath the dusty dust-jackets. Award winning books I was told I should read for their current cultural relevance and revelations. Oh god they read like re-warmed shit strained through  pompadour to mask the unpleasant stench of plot banality  and the de jure unexpected plot-twist de jour….

Oh I would pluck mine eyes from my head if I am forced to read another word crafted by Joseph Boyden.

Yes I know he is renowned and regaled and endowed with awards. I cannot stand how he writes. But I guess that is why there are a thousand other writers waiting to be discovered. Oh my god – I actually wrote a review? What? An unintended and unenlightened review! I must also admit I hated the movie Titanic – so that may be a sign that you should go read Boyden!

Enough for now. I just felt I should force myself to write something. ANYTHING!

And I did.

Happy November.

 

Photo: Trump Action Figures

Yes you can get Trump as an Action figure! Along with his trusty partner Melania…

 

Look here:

trumptroll

Donald the Troll – note accurate finger sizing!

Real estate developer Donald Trump, gestures during a news conference with the PGA in New York May 1, 2014. New Jersey's Trump National Golf Club, a course owned by Trump, will host the 2022 PGA Championship.  REUTERS/Brendan McDermid (UNITED STATES - Tags: SPORT GOLF BUSINESS ENTERTAINMENT SOCIETY) - RTR3NFFK

The Donald really

aquamarina_trump ala Stringray

Melania (Marina) Trump

aquamarinatrump

melania The real non-plastic Melania

Get your Donald and Melania set as the package deal of the Troll and Mermaid set! Includes live action gaming instructions. We are going nuclear baby!

 

Ramble: Infinite Sadness

Some days are better than other days. And some days are more bitter.

I write poetry and short prose as the cadence of the moment catches my heart and soul. My words are alive with thoughts and feelings inspired by the turmoil inside, and by the words I read on luminescent screens. What I write is fictionalized reality. Not to be confused with the augmented reality of Pokemon Go.

Oh boy augmented reality – and now I must digress as to me that is a marketing spiel misnomer. How on earth is a virtualized representation of the world reality? Google maps and Google earth is not reality. It is a digitized and abstracted representation of the world as documented at a specific point in time and space. It is not reality.

To then layer an further abstraction on top of an abstraction is not augmenting reality. It is at best an augmented abstraction. If you abstract the abstract, is it now more or less real? At what point does abstraction become avoidance and distraction?

Augmented reality is simply an extended and extruded artificial reality.

Okay now where was I? Ah yes – the creative process that drives my random blather. Am I then also an abstraction of an abstraction? And if you cut an abstraction is that a castration? Oops I mean a subtraction…

Focus!

My brain is not here today. Monday is blamed for the blues – yet this Monday wallowing in depths beyond the normal start of the week blues. These blues have deepened into midnight black of the inner abyss, spiraling down into dark pits. Crushing gravitational singularity black hole. Now I write to find the theoretical wormhole of escape to escape into other dimensions. And I find….

I got nothing.

Complete blank. Zilch. Zip. Nada. Zero. Negative infinity. Oi.

I am at this point in time creatively flat-lined. And no amount of artistic electricity is reviving this one. Call it. This post is officially dead at 3:33 PM on August  15, 2016.