Simple really.
He brought safety, security and a home into my life. Depression is a easier thing to live with if you have loving arms to hold you.
oh and its my move. E4.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
the reason
Guess I should talk about why there was a gap of 16.8 years between wills.
Simple really.
He brought safety, security and a home into my life. Depression is a easier thing to live with if you have loving arms to hold you.
oh and its my move. E4.
Simple really.
He brought safety, security and a home into my life. Depression is a easier thing to live with if you have loving arms to hold you.
oh and its my move. E4.
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
I think it's time again Will.
It's been a while.
Quite a stretch in fact. I thinks its been at least 16.8 years.
I think its time I write my will again.
was in a dark place the last time I wrote one. Similar spot this time too. Too darn familiar. Soul sucking, spirit shattering damp dark end of the rope familiar.
My life feels like its ran out.
Not coasting to a quiet stop. No. Nothing that simple or easy. More along the lines of the brakes have failed and I am careening down a hill, being tossed around unmercifully. The windows shattering are barely drowning out the last of my will to go on being smothered.
I am dissociated to a point I'm not even in my body any more.
in my life time, I have written so many wills I can literally bind them into an impressive book.
Sad thing is, I really have nothing to leave anyone.
The only thing I have of any value, is my self. Even that is quite a dented swollen can, best to be thrown away.
I will take all the bad with me when I die. Leaving behind cryptic stories written in my youth. Half finished drawings and unchased dreams. A box of old battered mementoes of another time. Talismans that will mean nothing to anyone. There magical powers all used up by the girl in me.
I will leave the good though, when I die. My children, my husband.
My writing.
total shame I can't put my most impressive writings on my blog.
Just yet.
I'm working on getting them typed in. They will sit like frozen corpses in the draft queue until my death, or until I don't care anymore and find the guts to press the publish button. Before I kill my self I will leave the log in to GTBO to someone with instructions to go in and push publish on them all.
Or I will do that as the last of my life spills out.
I am really suicidal. Not the usual kind though. This head space is numb, with a hit of paranoia drifting in and out.
Usually I can see the road ahead. Can't right now. I'm at the end of the film and the its spit out and flapping around the projector.
Makes me want to jump off high buildings.
Get in my truck and drive away.
Handling it right now.
DUDE YOUR TYPING A WILL, YOU'RE NOT HANDLING IT.
True.
yes, oh yes this will end in a burn. Better a pound of flesh then my life, eh?
This is my last will and testament - voiding all the thousands of others you will find.
My therapy journals - I leave to who ever wants to read page after page of vomitus pain. Good luck rescuing her. I tried and failed. *Spoiler alert* - they all die in the end.
The meteorite dagger goes to sister #2, only she has the power to wield it.
To my children I leave what piddly possessions I have not given away or tossed by the time I die. I will give you a hint...look closely at them, as people age they discard things. Only the truly important things will be kept. What survived defines me.
To sister #3 I leave the wooden box Daddy made me.
To sister #1...what the hell can I give you? what do I possess that you would want? in fact what do I possess that ANYONE would want.
A few tangible things that gather dust, anything I value I owned I have sold off to pay our son's hospital bill.
The only thing of value I have is...my time and presence.
Damn it. Yes in deed its time to discuss my will again.
The will to go one.
It gets hard some times when the pain is crippling and unrelenting. When the depression is singing the lullaby of smoothing calmness and the ability to wake to no pain.
In the mist of all that there are small things that anchor me here.
"mama, I want you to hang around, my children will want to meet there grandma."
"Yes I want you to come home. I need you, I want you, I love you."
"Can you make mash potatoes for dinner?"
To everyone I leave you all: me.
Quite a stretch in fact. I thinks its been at least 16.8 years.
I think its time I write my will again.
was in a dark place the last time I wrote one. Similar spot this time too. Too darn familiar. Soul sucking, spirit shattering damp dark end of the rope familiar.
My life feels like its ran out.
Not coasting to a quiet stop. No. Nothing that simple or easy. More along the lines of the brakes have failed and I am careening down a hill, being tossed around unmercifully. The windows shattering are barely drowning out the last of my will to go on being smothered.
I am dissociated to a point I'm not even in my body any more.
in my life time, I have written so many wills I can literally bind them into an impressive book.
Sad thing is, I really have nothing to leave anyone.
The only thing I have of any value, is my self. Even that is quite a dented swollen can, best to be thrown away.
I will take all the bad with me when I die. Leaving behind cryptic stories written in my youth. Half finished drawings and unchased dreams. A box of old battered mementoes of another time. Talismans that will mean nothing to anyone. There magical powers all used up by the girl in me.
I will leave the good though, when I die. My children, my husband.
My writing.
total shame I can't put my most impressive writings on my blog.
Just yet.
I'm working on getting them typed in. They will sit like frozen corpses in the draft queue until my death, or until I don't care anymore and find the guts to press the publish button. Before I kill my self I will leave the log in to GTBO to someone with instructions to go in and push publish on them all.
Or I will do that as the last of my life spills out.
I am really suicidal. Not the usual kind though. This head space is numb, with a hit of paranoia drifting in and out.
Usually I can see the road ahead. Can't right now. I'm at the end of the film and the its spit out and flapping around the projector.
Makes me want to jump off high buildings.
Get in my truck and drive away.
Handling it right now.
DUDE YOUR TYPING A WILL, YOU'RE NOT HANDLING IT.
True.
yes, oh yes this will end in a burn. Better a pound of flesh then my life, eh?
This is my last will and testament - voiding all the thousands of others you will find.
My therapy journals - I leave to who ever wants to read page after page of vomitus pain. Good luck rescuing her. I tried and failed. *Spoiler alert* - they all die in the end.
The meteorite dagger goes to sister #2, only she has the power to wield it.
To my children I leave what piddly possessions I have not given away or tossed by the time I die. I will give you a hint...look closely at them, as people age they discard things. Only the truly important things will be kept. What survived defines me.
To sister #3 I leave the wooden box Daddy made me.
To sister #1...what the hell can I give you? what do I possess that you would want? in fact what do I possess that ANYONE would want.
A few tangible things that gather dust, anything I value I owned I have sold off to pay our son's hospital bill.
The only thing of value I have is...my time and presence.
Damn it. Yes in deed its time to discuss my will again.
The will to go one.
It gets hard some times when the pain is crippling and unrelenting. When the depression is singing the lullaby of smoothing calmness and the ability to wake to no pain.
In the mist of all that there are small things that anchor me here.
"mama, I want you to hang around, my children will want to meet there grandma."
"Yes I want you to come home. I need you, I want you, I love you."
"Can you make mash potatoes for dinner?"
To everyone I leave you all: me.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
see it as a gift, young one
Young one.
You come from a long line of amazing women.
Beautiful, forever young ones
wild,
and
who gravity can't anchor....
Who know they are out of sync, and
Know there will be times you will be alone. Use that time to explore the depths of your mind and all the great mysteries that lay within it.
The only one who needs to "get you" is you.
Those who don't get you are missing an amazing soul, a sparkly ice cover comet arching through the night sky. It's their loss. Don't waste one second on trying to be who they want you to be.
See your uniqueness as a gift. One passed down through the generations. It was given to me, and
Your going to stand out. Your different.
You come from a long line of amazing women.
Beautiful, forever young ones
wild,
Free souls...
who gravity can't anchor....
Who know they are out of sync, and
have always looked so good in capes.
Women who knew who they were and didn't let others force them to conform.
Broody, mysterious women who drive those who love us nuts, because they can be with us, but not really have us...
We are warrior women. Strong and brave.
Darling, ride every horse you meet.
We are warrior women. Strong and brave.
Darling, ride every horse you meet.
Every ledge you come upon, leap knowing that the sky will embrace you and the ground will catch you.
We are part centaur...this wild blood still courses through our veins, your heart will naturally beat in the primordial four hoof beat rhythm.
You come from circus folk, you have sawdust in your shoes, you will always dream big.
let no one keep you from chasing them all.
Be near water where ever you go. We descend from fisherwomen, mermaids and sirens.
So in tune with our world we are, we sometimes feel things before they happen.
It's just how it for us. Others will not get this. If you try to tell them you too will get branded a witch, and your life will be made hell. Your sons will not inherit this, only your daughters.
Never be afraid. You will face obstacles that will seem unsurmountable. know you come from women who have faced crushing life events and came out stronger and still able to smile.
Be near water where ever you go. We descend from fisherwomen, mermaids and sirens.
So in tune with our world we are, we sometimes feel things before they happen.
Never be afraid. You will face obstacles that will seem unsurmountable. know you come from women who have faced crushing life events and came out stronger and still able to smile.
When life gets rough, dig in and fight. Know your from sturdy stock that can do anything.
Be alive, young one. Interact with your world. Explore it all. We were blessed with one heck of an imagination. Never loose it.
Your never going to fit in. We are made from ancient stock. We are the type of women men went to war over. The kind who toppled dynasties.
know how beautiful you are...let no one rob you of your beauty.
Find people who love you, and aren't afraid of the enormous complexity of your soul. Ones who will gently support you when the magnitude of you mind crushes the fragileness of your soul in it endless war within.
Know there will be times you will be alone. Use that time to explore the depths of your mind and all the great mysteries that lay within it.
Be friends with who ever you want. Sometimes stuffing is stronger then blood.
The world may not get you at first. Don't worry about it. It's their problem. Be who you are. Accept you are an original. know you are not alone, no matter how you feel. Little one, its just that you are so far ahead of the others blazing the trail that it just seems you are alone. You will find your place...or you will make your place.
The only one who needs to "get you" is you.
See your uniqueness as a gift. One passed down through the generations. It was given to me, and
I gave it to you.
Your going to stand out. Your different.
Don't fear the journey. Embrace the adventure.
Sunday, December 6, 2015
snooze button
Why does it feel like I am being disconnected from life support
when the alarm clock calls me back from dream land?
Monday, November 30, 2015
lullagoodbyes
Awake too long. Can't sleep., on the heels of a long shift at work, full of night magic.
I wake gentle souls over and over. They reach for my hand and whisper groggy confessions, and tell me what they were doing in their dreams,
I was getting ready to jump from the Ferris wheel...
...I was riding whales.
I was singing lullabies in a choir...
...I was sliding on a frozen waterfall.
Night shift is a lot like Vegas.
What happens there, stays there.
No one see's it or would ever believe it. Except those arduous souls who span the stretch of midnight with open arms. Night people are the anchors who hold the world of light in place. We keep the order while the chaos of dreams tries to unravel sanity.
In the hush of the darkness everything stands still. A pause between hearts beats. I'm on watch, keeper of the time. Holder of the keys. My job to hand my charges over safe and sound to those light walkers who rise with the sun.
"How was your night?" they always ask.
"It was a quiet night." I say keeping all the magic to my self. I clock out with a full heart and joyous soul carrying all the special moments with me hidden, unspoken.
"Don't you ever get tired of working nights?" they sometimes ask.
"No." I smile and turn and jump from the Ferris wheel.
I wake gentle souls over and over. They reach for my hand and whisper groggy confessions, and tell me what they were doing in their dreams,
I was getting ready to jump from the Ferris wheel...
...I was riding whales.
I was singing lullabies in a choir...
...I was sliding on a frozen waterfall.
Night shift is a lot like Vegas.
What happens there, stays there.
No one see's it or would ever believe it. Except those arduous souls who span the stretch of midnight with open arms. Night people are the anchors who hold the world of light in place. We keep the order while the chaos of dreams tries to unravel sanity.
In the hush of the darkness everything stands still. A pause between hearts beats. I'm on watch, keeper of the time. Holder of the keys. My job to hand my charges over safe and sound to those light walkers who rise with the sun.
"How was your night?" they always ask.
"It was a quiet night." I say keeping all the magic to my self. I clock out with a full heart and joyous soul carrying all the special moments with me hidden, unspoken.
"Don't you ever get tired of working nights?" they sometimes ask.
"No." I smile and turn and jump from the Ferris wheel.
Friday, November 27, 2015
Healing is hard
Trigger warning - I am in a spin cycle of suicidal urges. The kind where I am at risk of a "fuckitall" attempt. I am fighting them one at a time as they crop up. It's harder somehow this winter.
Gee, thank you so much Season Affect Disorder...you sadistic bastard. And I'm sure his buddy Peri-Menopausal Hormone Fluctuations is just as much to blame.
I want to share this poem with you.
It was written the year I decided to stay alive and not kill my self. The decision to stay alive was still in its infancy. Literally 2 and 1/2 months old. I was battling urges like I am now. I was 23 years old.
I am sitting in Richards tan chair facing him December 28th 1988. I am burrowed into my dirty coat. I was dressed in baggy ripped purple sweats. My hair in a unbrushed sloppy pony tail. I had worked the night before. Maybe 3 hours of sleep under my belt. The depth of my depression was a tangible entity in the room.
He looked at me softly. As if he was trying to decide if it was worth delving into the madness in my head today.
Deciding it wasn't worth it, he finally leaned back and just waited for me to engage.
He always knew just how to talk to me. Or in this case not talk to me.
At last I forced my woody arm out of my coat pocket and handed him three sheets of folded note book paper.
He leaned forward and took them. Unfolded them and read what I had written.
(C) 12-26-1988 P.
Healing is hard
Healing is hard.
facing fears that loomed so tall,
battling voices that taunt and beckon.
Dealing with truths and lies.
Healing is hard
accepting the past and all its contents,
for what it was and no longer is.
Healing is hard
Learning to trust and share,
to express pain and joy
is a new experience
Accepting what was not, and lo longer can be
is hard, very hard.
Facing the real me is difficult.
Loving the real me is a new idea.
Admitting what happened is hard.
Sometimes its so easy to fall
back into old patterns,
old ways that are familiar and comforting,
rather than charge ahead into the unknown.
Healing is hard
some sessions we rip scabs
off festering old wounds,
and suddenly I'm five years old again
and I'm very frightened.
I want my mama to comfort me.
There's never been a mama there,
not then and not now.
Healing is hard
Existing in half a fantasy
and half a reality...is crazy.
I know the shadows which whisper to me
aren't really there.
But I see them.
And I was taught that seeing is believing.
The voices that shout at me
are my own
Why would I want to harm my self?
Healing is hard
I silently try
again and again
to find someone who will listen to me
and see
that something isn't right
before I end my life.
To help me find a way out
before I'm trapped behind my walls
for ever and ever, which ever comes first.
Healing is hard
Battling over my sanity
I fight and fight
I'm a survivor, I'm strong.
Some days though, I'm a broken willow reed
trampled in the field dirt.
handle me with care.
I give the illusion of great strength.
That is just a mask I cower behind.
I am six years old and lost again.
Healing is hard
I reject the offered love
and I need it the most.
I can't understand why
I must run and run.
Not everyone will hurt me
I don't deserve to be hurt
I didn't do anything,
I'm not a bad person.
Healing is hard
All through school the children have laughed.
"Pa-SHA" they'd call "Pa-DGA"
"she is ugly, she is different and crazy."
oh how their words hurt!
But I wouldn't give in,
My outer shell just grew thicker.
They could isolate me,
whisper behind my back,
Laugh at me.
I pretend I didn't care
deep down inside
I'd cry and cry.
Healing is hard
I feel like I'm a tightrope,
that is beginning to crumble.
I scramble for footing
snatching at the rope as it unravels.
I'm falling again.
Just as I was falling when I was fifteen.
It doesn't hurt to fall anymore
I can't feel the pain
nothing hurts me anymore,
nothing but life.
Healing is hard
I've come so far
I've fought very hard
I won't give in
Their not going to win.
I'm not crazy
I'm not insane
I'm in control of me
I'm responsible for my own actions
Healing is hard
behind my stormy blue eyes
lie many untold horrors
sometimes I'm tempted to
speak them aloud.
My soul screams them out
but they get silenced
by the cold brick walls which engulf me.
I'm unreachable
I am lost.
The hurt runs to deep.
healing is not possible.
I had not watched him read it. I was starring at the ripped hole in my sweats, picking at the loose stings. When I heard him lay it on his lap. My eyes flicked up and met his.
I needed him to agree with my last line. This was his one chance to jump ship. I was presenting him with an out. If he wasn't in this fight, he held his walking papers in his hand.
He glanced down at the paper and back to my eyes. We stared for what felt like an eternity. He finally nodded, as if he had fully digested what he had just read.
"Its a shame to end this on such a sad note." He said. touching the paper. "what can we do to change that?"
I thought for a few seconds then twisted in my chair and dug a pen out of my pocket. I stood up and reached over and grabbed the poem from him. Scribbled seven words and handed them back to him.
He glanced down at them.
I'm unreachable
I am lost.
The hurt runs to deep.
healing is not possible, in the darkness
turn on a light.
His huge smile lite up the room, and we got down to the business of saving my life.
Gee, thank you so much Season Affect Disorder...you sadistic bastard. And I'm sure his buddy Peri-Menopausal Hormone Fluctuations is just as much to blame.
I want to share this poem with you.
It was written the year I decided to stay alive and not kill my self. The decision to stay alive was still in its infancy. Literally 2 and 1/2 months old. I was battling urges like I am now. I was 23 years old.
I am sitting in Richards tan chair facing him December 28th 1988. I am burrowed into my dirty coat. I was dressed in baggy ripped purple sweats. My hair in a unbrushed sloppy pony tail. I had worked the night before. Maybe 3 hours of sleep under my belt. The depth of my depression was a tangible entity in the room.
He looked at me softly. As if he was trying to decide if it was worth delving into the madness in my head today.
Deciding it wasn't worth it, he finally leaned back and just waited for me to engage.
He always knew just how to talk to me. Or in this case not talk to me.
At last I forced my woody arm out of my coat pocket and handed him three sheets of folded note book paper.
He leaned forward and took them. Unfolded them and read what I had written.
(C) 12-26-1988 P.
Healing is hard
Healing is hard.
facing fears that loomed so tall,
battling voices that taunt and beckon.
Dealing with truths and lies.
Healing is hard
accepting the past and all its contents,
for what it was and no longer is.
Healing is hard
Learning to trust and share,
to express pain and joy
is a new experience
Accepting what was not, and lo longer can be
is hard, very hard.
Facing the real me is difficult.
Loving the real me is a new idea.
Admitting what happened is hard.
Sometimes its so easy to fall
back into old patterns,
old ways that are familiar and comforting,
rather than charge ahead into the unknown.
Healing is hard
some sessions we rip scabs
off festering old wounds,
and suddenly I'm five years old again
and I'm very frightened.
I want my mama to comfort me.
There's never been a mama there,
not then and not now.
Healing is hard
Existing in half a fantasy
and half a reality...is crazy.
I know the shadows which whisper to me
aren't really there.
But I see them.
And I was taught that seeing is believing.
The voices that shout at me
are my own
Why would I want to harm my self?
Healing is hard
I silently try
again and again
to find someone who will listen to me
and see
that something isn't right
before I end my life.
To help me find a way out
before I'm trapped behind my walls
for ever and ever, which ever comes first.
Healing is hard
Battling over my sanity
I fight and fight
I'm a survivor, I'm strong.
Some days though, I'm a broken willow reed
trampled in the field dirt.
handle me with care.
I give the illusion of great strength.
That is just a mask I cower behind.
I am six years old and lost again.
Healing is hard
I reject the offered love
and I need it the most.
I can't understand why
I must run and run.
Not everyone will hurt me
I don't deserve to be hurt
I didn't do anything,
I'm not a bad person.
Healing is hard
All through school the children have laughed.
"Pa-SHA" they'd call "Pa-DGA"
"she is ugly, she is different and crazy."
oh how their words hurt!
But I wouldn't give in,
My outer shell just grew thicker.
They could isolate me,
whisper behind my back,
Laugh at me.
I pretend I didn't care
deep down inside
I'd cry and cry.
Healing is hard
I feel like I'm a tightrope,
that is beginning to crumble.
I scramble for footing
snatching at the rope as it unravels.
I'm falling again.
Just as I was falling when I was fifteen.
It doesn't hurt to fall anymore
I can't feel the pain
nothing hurts me anymore,
nothing but life.
Healing is hard
I've come so far
I've fought very hard
I won't give in
Their not going to win.
I'm not crazy
I'm not insane
I'm in control of me
I'm responsible for my own actions
Healing is hard
behind my stormy blue eyes
lie many untold horrors
sometimes I'm tempted to
speak them aloud.
My soul screams them out
but they get silenced
by the cold brick walls which engulf me.
I'm unreachable
I am lost.
The hurt runs to deep.
healing is not possible.
I had not watched him read it. I was starring at the ripped hole in my sweats, picking at the loose stings. When I heard him lay it on his lap. My eyes flicked up and met his.
I needed him to agree with my last line. This was his one chance to jump ship. I was presenting him with an out. If he wasn't in this fight, he held his walking papers in his hand.
He glanced down at the paper and back to my eyes. We stared for what felt like an eternity. He finally nodded, as if he had fully digested what he had just read.
"Its a shame to end this on such a sad note." He said. touching the paper. "what can we do to change that?"
I thought for a few seconds then twisted in my chair and dug a pen out of my pocket. I stood up and reached over and grabbed the poem from him. Scribbled seven words and handed them back to him.
He glanced down at them.
I'm unreachable
I am lost.
The hurt runs to deep.
healing is not possible, in the darkness
turn on a light.
His huge smile lite up the room, and we got down to the business of saving my life.
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
How's your week going?
Monday my Visa-identity was stolen and "I" was charging expensive cosmetics in Europe. Fraud department caught that and nipped it in the bud.
Tuesday morning a registered sex offender tried to break down the door at work and I had to 911 his ass.
I can't wait to see what Wednesday brings...LOL
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
A dotted dance ....
Once upon a time I had the fine motor control to do detailed stippling.
........ stippling is simply drawing with dots, lots and lots of dots ....
I did this foal in a series of unicorns and fantasy horses.
Endless hours absorbed while sitting at my desk.
Head phones on. The Beatles singing to just me.
I loved the repetitive staccato rhythm of the pen.
The dance it did.
. . . . dip . . . . dip . . . . dip . . . .
cold black ink, contrasting the steel metal of the oh, so delicate nib . . . .
I did this foal in a series of unicorns and fantasy horses.
Endless hours absorbed while sitting at my desk.
Head phones on. The Beatles singing to just me.
I loved the repetitive staccato rhythm of the pen.
The dance it did.
. . . . dip . . . . dip . . . . dip . . . .
cold black ink, contrasting the steel metal of the oh, so delicate nib . . . .
The slight scratch sound as the nib ever so gently was tugged at by the tiny strands on the thick art paper. . . . . dip . . . .
I day dreamed as I drew. Dreaming of framing these pictures and selling them for hundreds of dollars. Dreamed of being famous . . . dip . . . rich.
Your soul gets exposed in art work. Each brush stroke a truth about your life. The only ones who can decode it are those who happen upon your art and fall in love with it.
To the rest, its just color / ink on a canvas.
Saturday, November 7, 2015
The lantern maker
The ancient red woods were enjoying the stillness when they felt the young traveler enter their sanctuary. The red mother arched her thick trunk and curled her burls as she stretched and limbered.
"Who is there?" she said, her breath sending a warm wind.
"me." replied a quivering small voice.
Mother looked down
and down
.... down, to the ground.
A small one stood crying at her foot. In her arms was the body of a limp red fox.
"Wait." mother said bending.
bending,
....bending down, to the ground.
"What has happened here little one?" she asked gently pulling the girl to her.
The girl bit her lip as she sobbed, "He died."
The mother held her tight, and cried with the girl. There combined tears collecting in the soft red fur.
"He was my fwiend..." she whispered holding him close and laying her pale cheek on his fur.
"He was our friend too" said the ferns wrapping themselves around her.
"Mine too" cried the sun light softly lighting the red fir. "He was the lantern maker."
"What?" she sniffed and dried her eyes on him.
The sunlight twinkled and slowly danced in a dappled pattern. "He made the most beautiful lanterns. In all sizes and shapes. He lite them with his special light. You are blessed little one to have known him...."
"...I wish eberyone could know him." She sniffed hugging him closer.
A cool shadow blotted out the warm sun.
"Everyone will." came a new voice.
The tall, darkhaired woman knelt down and ran her hand lovingly over the still red fur. Tears were in her big blue eyes. "they most definitely will." She parted the wishing clover and began to dig.
the rich brown earth came up easily in her hands.
The little girl began to sob again. "I don't wanna fordet him. Or weave him where I can't see him."
The tree's began to whisper and gently sway. A shower of bright green needles rained down, and lined the hole in a soft carpet.
The woman held out her hands for the fox.
The girl hugged him tighter and turned into the trees dark bark. "I tant weave him."
The woman gently smiled. "Didn't you hear the sunlight? He was the lantern maker."
"He didn't make me a lantern!" she wailed "I haf no lantern to carry."
The sunlight suddenly blinded her and she closed her eyes. It held her face and warmed her tears. "you are the lantern dear one." it whispered. "He made you the lantern."
She dropped her face into his fur and sobbed through her understanding smile. Carefully and with great honor, she laid him on the bed of needles. She petted him for a long time as the woman, red mother, ferns and sunlight patted her quivering back. At last she painstakingly drew the dirt over him with her little hands.
"I will wanna visit him a din. How will I find dis grave?" She asked as she tenderly patted the dirt into place.
The woman looked up
and up
...up, to the canopy.
"He isn't here little one. You want to visit him, share the life he put into you."
"Will dat work?"
"Yes," smiled the woman returning her gaze to the child. She cupped the child's face with her earthy hands. "He wouldn't want it any other way. He made his lanterns to shine for a lifetime."
****************************************************************************
In loving memory of Richard, and the gift he gave us all.
(c) 11-6-2015 Paja Russell
"Who is there?" she said, her breath sending a warm wind.
"me." replied a quivering small voice.
Mother looked down
and down
.... down, to the ground.
A small one stood crying at her foot. In her arms was the body of a limp red fox.
"Wait." mother said bending.
bending,
....bending down, to the ground.
"What has happened here little one?" she asked gently pulling the girl to her.
The girl bit her lip as she sobbed, "He died."
The mother held her tight, and cried with the girl. There combined tears collecting in the soft red fur.
"He was my fwiend..." she whispered holding him close and laying her pale cheek on his fur.
"He was our friend too" said the ferns wrapping themselves around her.
"Mine too" cried the sun light softly lighting the red fir. "He was the lantern maker."
"What?" she sniffed and dried her eyes on him.
The sunlight twinkled and slowly danced in a dappled pattern. "He made the most beautiful lanterns. In all sizes and shapes. He lite them with his special light. You are blessed little one to have known him...."
"...I wish eberyone could know him." She sniffed hugging him closer.
A cool shadow blotted out the warm sun.
"Everyone will." came a new voice.
The tall, darkhaired woman knelt down and ran her hand lovingly over the still red fur. Tears were in her big blue eyes. "they most definitely will." She parted the wishing clover and began to dig.
the rich brown earth came up easily in her hands.
The little girl began to sob again. "I don't wanna fordet him. Or weave him where I can't see him."
The tree's began to whisper and gently sway. A shower of bright green needles rained down, and lined the hole in a soft carpet.
The woman held out her hands for the fox.
The girl hugged him tighter and turned into the trees dark bark. "I tant weave him."
The woman gently smiled. "Didn't you hear the sunlight? He was the lantern maker."
"He didn't make me a lantern!" she wailed "I haf no lantern to carry."
The sunlight suddenly blinded her and she closed her eyes. It held her face and warmed her tears. "you are the lantern dear one." it whispered. "He made you the lantern."
She dropped her face into his fur and sobbed through her understanding smile. Carefully and with great honor, she laid him on the bed of needles. She petted him for a long time as the woman, red mother, ferns and sunlight patted her quivering back. At last she painstakingly drew the dirt over him with her little hands.
"I will wanna visit him a din. How will I find dis grave?" She asked as she tenderly patted the dirt into place.
The woman looked up
and up
...up, to the canopy.
"He isn't here little one. You want to visit him, share the life he put into you."
"Will dat work?"
"Yes," smiled the woman returning her gaze to the child. She cupped the child's face with her earthy hands. "He wouldn't want it any other way. He made his lanterns to shine for a lifetime."
****************************************************************************
In loving memory of Richard, and the gift he gave us all.
(c) 11-6-2015 Paja Russell
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
fight
life you bastard,
One of these days...
the blow of your fist will stop me from getting up again.
I have taken even punch you have thrown at me
I have gotten up each time you pounded me into the ground
each time you killed my friends
each time you drove me out to the woods and left me.
struggled to stand when your cruelly tripped me,
you bully...
why do you hate me?
what did I ever do to you?
I know I cheated death when I was born.
Is that why you are angry?
are you angry because I won't stay down?
Pissed because I still try after all of it?
...got news for you, you can hurt me, you can cripple me, but you can't kill what I have inside.
everyone has tried...
and everyone has failed.
I am made of dark ore, forged in an ancient furnace.
life you bastard,
One of these days...
the blow of your fist will stop me from getting up again.
but know I am taking you down with me when that happens.
One of these days...
the blow of your fist will stop me from getting up again.
I have taken even punch you have thrown at me
I have gotten up each time you pounded me into the ground
each time you killed my friends
each time you drove me out to the woods and left me.
struggled to stand when your cruelly tripped me,
you bully...
why do you hate me?
what did I ever do to you?
I know I cheated death when I was born.
Is that why you are angry?
are you angry because I won't stay down?
Pissed because I still try after all of it?
...got news for you, you can hurt me, you can cripple me, but you can't kill what I have inside.
everyone has tried...
and everyone has failed.
I am made of dark ore, forged in an ancient furnace.
life you bastard,
One of these days...
the blow of your fist will stop me from getting up again.
but know I am taking you down with me when that happens.
Friday, October 30, 2015
dang it...the pipers going to be rich...
After yesterdays temper tantrum...which I akin to me being a cranky old rodeo bronc kicking up dust and barring my yellow teeth at everyone. I took a pain pill and muscle relaxer and went to bed for a nap before work.
I awoke to no pain and the headache gone. My mood instantly elevated to normal. The pain sure makes me a cranky dog.
I had the interesting experience recently to sit down for a conversation with a reader of my blog. He has known me for 15+ years, but only from a distance. This was the first time we sat face to face and had a conversation beyond the normal "hi, how are you stuff."
As our conversation eventually came upon my blog, he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, and I got the distinct impression that the "blog me" scared the crap out of him.
Hey when I say I am talented writer I am not lying. I write the madness in my head so I don't act it out in real life.
Do I shout angrily at people in real life? No.
Have I ever shouted in anger at my husband?
once.
In the only real argument we have ever had. (over weather or not to circumcise our son). Well I say it was an argument, but he didn't raise his voice, only I did.
I have yelled endless in my writings over the past 50 years. For me its a great outlet for venting and maintain my sanity.
So while it may sound like my cheese has slipped off my cracker, that's just the sound of madness in my writers mind sounds like.
Yeah, it sounds like your a lunatic.
I awoke to no pain and the headache gone. My mood instantly elevated to normal. The pain sure makes me a cranky dog.
I had the interesting experience recently to sit down for a conversation with a reader of my blog. He has known me for 15+ years, but only from a distance. This was the first time we sat face to face and had a conversation beyond the normal "hi, how are you stuff."
As our conversation eventually came upon my blog, he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, and I got the distinct impression that the "blog me" scared the crap out of him.
Hey when I say I am talented writer I am not lying. I write the madness in my head so I don't act it out in real life.
Do I shout angrily at people in real life? No.
Have I ever shouted in anger at my husband?
once.
In the only real argument we have ever had. (over weather or not to circumcise our son). Well I say it was an argument, but he didn't raise his voice, only I did.
I have yelled endless in my writings over the past 50 years. For me its a great outlet for venting and maintain my sanity.
So while it may sound like my cheese has slipped off my cracker, that's just the sound of madness in my writers mind sounds like.
Yeah, it sounds like your a lunatic.
Heh, yup, but if yelling in cyberspace will keep me from hurting my selves, then I am going to keep doing it when I need to.
Thursday, October 29, 2015
I'm afraid the S.A.D has me in it's evil clutches - TRIGGER
Well it took till now for the winter depression to find me. I'm afraid it's got me hooked deeply with it's icy claws.
Shit.
I've been fighting vicious urges to kill my self.
Pain levels off the charts.
Last month we ran lab work at my request to rule out/in stuff like Lupus, and rheumatoid arthritis.
They were all fine.
The one that was not was my CK levels. Normal range is 26-192
I am 261.
261.
That test indicates muscle damage.
At last a possible direction to do searching for a diagnosis. What's down that road is some REALLY SCARY SHIT.
Stuff that WILL make me take my own life.
We re-ran the CK level last Wednesday. To see if came down. If its still high I go to see a specialist.
One of the reasons I did the RAI (radiation to kill my thyroid) was because I was have having heart palpitations 24/7 from the Graves disease.
for years....for years I was having them. My heart may have been damaged from untreated Graves disease...
Just a little pissed. I want to be the one who ends my existence, not some fucking disease.
I want that control.
Was rear ended by a speeding car while stopped at a light on the 5th this month. Another car accident to deal with. Yet another thing out of my control. It all makes me feel like I am in a tumbler...spinning endlessly.
So right now until we get lab results and I know weather or not I have to go see a specialist, I am having to deal with CRAZY FUCKING URGES TO BURN THE SHIT OUTTA MY SELVES.
Its that way with me and self injury. The minute you tell me I can't, I want to. sooooo baaaaad.
I won't let me and so I am dealing with this chaos-a-go-round in my head.
I have had a headache for a week. My body is fatigued, pain levels off the charts, hot flashes, suicidal levels of depression....and I can't self medicate by lighting my arm on fire and getting lost in the sweet soothing pain of a nice fat burn.
4 more days to work until my vacation. I get 10 days off.
10 days to hide and cry.
10 days to be alone with my head...
10 days to resist the call of the night.....oh to wake to no pain....
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck me.
You who do not suffer from depression...you lucky pricks. you have no idea how blessed you are.
Shit.
I've been fighting vicious urges to kill my self.
Pain levels off the charts.
Last month we ran lab work at my request to rule out/in stuff like Lupus, and rheumatoid arthritis.
They were all fine.
The one that was not was my CK levels. Normal range is 26-192
I am 261.
261.
That test indicates muscle damage.
At last a possible direction to do searching for a diagnosis. What's down that road is some REALLY SCARY SHIT.
Stuff that WILL make me take my own life.
We re-ran the CK level last Wednesday. To see if came down. If its still high I go to see a specialist.
One of the reasons I did the RAI (radiation to kill my thyroid) was because I was have having heart palpitations 24/7 from the Graves disease.
for years....for years I was having them. My heart may have been damaged from untreated Graves disease...
Just a little pissed. I want to be the one who ends my existence, not some fucking disease.
I want that control.
Was rear ended by a speeding car while stopped at a light on the 5th this month. Another car accident to deal with. Yet another thing out of my control. It all makes me feel like I am in a tumbler...spinning endlessly.
So right now until we get lab results and I know weather or not I have to go see a specialist, I am having to deal with CRAZY FUCKING URGES TO BURN THE SHIT OUTTA MY SELVES.
Its that way with me and self injury. The minute you tell me I can't, I want to. sooooo baaaaad.
I won't let me and so I am dealing with this chaos-a-go-round in my head.
I have had a headache for a week. My body is fatigued, pain levels off the charts, hot flashes, suicidal levels of depression....and I can't self medicate by lighting my arm on fire and getting lost in the sweet soothing pain of a nice fat burn.
4 more days to work until my vacation. I get 10 days off.
10 days to hide and cry.
10 days to be alone with my head...
10 days to resist the call of the night.....oh to wake to no pain....
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck me.
You who do not suffer from depression...you lucky pricks. you have no idea how blessed you are.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
comprehension (triggery subject)
* * * * trigger for abuse memories * * * *
We tend to get frozen in time when it comes to abuse. Like little deer caught in headlights, victims tend to freeze and leave "photographs" hardwired in their mind of the abuse.
Something triggers the memory and instantly the image will be displayed in your mind. Flashbacks are like a haunting old slide show that is no fun to watch.
The cruel thing our minds do/did, is that victims also hardwired in the EMOTIONAL aspect of the incident also.
So BAM you are blindsided by a flashback or a trigger causes you to go to that dark space in your head and then the second punch hits you...you are not experiencing it as the grown up you are right here and now....but rather your mind reacts as if you age regressed back to that day.
That is a normal reaction, your mind/body instantly returned to the last hardwired memory.
As strange as this sounds....you can't work through being abused as a child as an adult. You are not in the same head space any longer. You have many more life experiences then you the abused child did.
To heal you have to undergo some unpleasant digging into your past and looking at it from the child perspective. You will have to reconnect those frozen photographs into the movie format of what is your life story.
You have emotions to uncover and reconnect with.
The healing journey is painful in the beginning. People off doubt they will heal when faced with the hard work and uncomfortable emotions they have to churn through. Don't give up its very much worth the effort to put your past into perspective and get to a place where the memories no longer hold power over you.
Healing and thriving are possible no matter how long ago the abuse took place.
"Healing" is not the right work for the process...Nothing will change the fact we were abused. So in a sense that work doesn't accurately define what happens. For me at least, the "healing" is like this:
(prior to therapy) - I have to walk by a vicious barking dog each day and as I approach the fence the mad dog lunges and barks and tries to bite me. I flinch and jerk away and run in fear past it. Unable to even look at it.
(during therapy) - Therapist and I go stand a safe distance away from the fence and look at the dog, and talk about all the experiences and feelings that come up.
Therapist teaches me how to walk past the dog and how to deal with my emotions and physical reactions to the dog. Basically how to take back my power. We practice until I am back in control and empowered.
(post therapy) - I get back on with my life and while the events did leave a scar on my soul and mind, I am able to go on and keep living my life without the crippling emotions/memories of the abuse disrupting my life to the degree that I am non functioning.
I still have to face the vicious dog each day, but I no longer flinch or look away. I know it is chained and though it once hurt me, it can no longer hurt me. I have taken my power back and can deal with it in my adult mind vs my child mind.
Healing from past abuse's isn't going to come naturally. You are not just going to instinctively "know" how to respond to the trauma etc. Therapy is part padding the landing site BEFORE you jump out of the window. IE: learning skills to help you process the memories.
You are not sending "grown up you" after these memories. You, the grown up, in a strange way "do not have those memories" they belong to the young child who lived them.
You aren't going to be dealing with them initially.
A young child will be.
Its isn't you (the grown up, mature, capable of dealing with lives crap) that will be dealing/confronting with this stuff.
You are sending an unarmed, unprepared child to confront and fight monsters.
Which is why you want a therapist who you trust in your corner for the duration of the fight. A good therapist will eventually gently guide you to look back into the past and go after some of the puss pockets of unhealed/unprocessed memories.
Its easy to think..."I'm coping fine and things are great. why would I want to look back into that pain?"
Because its little pockets of pain waiting to ambush you when you get triggered. The abuse has left landminds (my term for the land mines abuse leaves in your head).
You are not white washing the past, you are going to be surgically, removing the bandage, removing the scab, cleaning out the puss, Appling antibiotics and allowing new tissue to grow and form a solid scar.
You will not be changing the memories. You will not be erasing them. Processing abuse memories is a way to take back your power, a way to gain control, and above all away to re-feather your wings so you can return to the sky.
Abuse beats you down.
Having the abuse stop/end allows you to be able to grow again. But most do it with a flinch in there shoulder, a defensive posture. Proper therapy will help you to change your stance so you approach life with open arms instead of a posture that indicates...I'm here, but I'm tensed up in preparation for the blows.
You choose your pace in which you go sifting back through memories.
A therapist should NEVER push - demand - expect you to present memoires to dissect.
When you are ready, let the progression of memory surfing unfold as it does. You will find things will not unravel in a linear line. Your going to jump all over the place. Let your mind dictate the direction. memories are coded in there own patterns in your mind. Don't be surprised to be working on 5 year old childhood memories and then 34 year old adult memories.
What is the purpose of this...all of it....what is the elusive comprehension you seek?
dear one....
how many times in your childhood did you wish/pray, someone would come for you? Someone who would see your pain and rescue you.
The one you have waited a lifetime to come for you, is the one you see in the mirror. She knows where you hide in your mind. Let her come and take you through the maze of monsters, let her loosen the chains, wrap you in her arms and save you.
You may not feel like it, but you are fierce warrior who has survived. Your shield is dented but strong. Your skin is scarred but free. Do not stop fighting until all of you are rescued.
We tend to get frozen in time when it comes to abuse. Like little deer caught in headlights, victims tend to freeze and leave "photographs" hardwired in their mind of the abuse.
Something triggers the memory and instantly the image will be displayed in your mind. Flashbacks are like a haunting old slide show that is no fun to watch.
The cruel thing our minds do/did, is that victims also hardwired in the EMOTIONAL aspect of the incident also.
So BAM you are blindsided by a flashback or a trigger causes you to go to that dark space in your head and then the second punch hits you...you are not experiencing it as the grown up you are right here and now....but rather your mind reacts as if you age regressed back to that day.
That is a normal reaction, your mind/body instantly returned to the last hardwired memory.
As strange as this sounds....you can't work through being abused as a child as an adult. You are not in the same head space any longer. You have many more life experiences then you the abused child did.
To heal you have to undergo some unpleasant digging into your past and looking at it from the child perspective. You will have to reconnect those frozen photographs into the movie format of what is your life story.
You have emotions to uncover and reconnect with.
The healing journey is painful in the beginning. People off doubt they will heal when faced with the hard work and uncomfortable emotions they have to churn through. Don't give up its very much worth the effort to put your past into perspective and get to a place where the memories no longer hold power over you.
Healing and thriving are possible no matter how long ago the abuse took place.
"Healing" is not the right work for the process...Nothing will change the fact we were abused. So in a sense that work doesn't accurately define what happens. For me at least, the "healing" is like this:
(prior to therapy) - I have to walk by a vicious barking dog each day and as I approach the fence the mad dog lunges and barks and tries to bite me. I flinch and jerk away and run in fear past it. Unable to even look at it.
(during therapy) - Therapist and I go stand a safe distance away from the fence and look at the dog, and talk about all the experiences and feelings that come up.
Therapist teaches me how to walk past the dog and how to deal with my emotions and physical reactions to the dog. Basically how to take back my power. We practice until I am back in control and empowered.
(post therapy) - I get back on with my life and while the events did leave a scar on my soul and mind, I am able to go on and keep living my life without the crippling emotions/memories of the abuse disrupting my life to the degree that I am non functioning.
I still have to face the vicious dog each day, but I no longer flinch or look away. I know it is chained and though it once hurt me, it can no longer hurt me. I have taken my power back and can deal with it in my adult mind vs my child mind.
Healing from past abuse's isn't going to come naturally. You are not just going to instinctively "know" how to respond to the trauma etc. Therapy is part padding the landing site BEFORE you jump out of the window. IE: learning skills to help you process the memories.
You are not sending "grown up you" after these memories. You, the grown up, in a strange way "do not have those memories" they belong to the young child who lived them.
You aren't going to be dealing with them initially.
A young child will be.
Its isn't you (the grown up, mature, capable of dealing with lives crap) that will be dealing/confronting with this stuff.
You are sending an unarmed, unprepared child to confront and fight monsters.
Which is why you want a therapist who you trust in your corner for the duration of the fight. A good therapist will eventually gently guide you to look back into the past and go after some of the puss pockets of unhealed/unprocessed memories.
Its easy to think..."I'm coping fine and things are great. why would I want to look back into that pain?"
Because its little pockets of pain waiting to ambush you when you get triggered. The abuse has left landminds (my term for the land mines abuse leaves in your head).
You are not white washing the past, you are going to be surgically, removing the bandage, removing the scab, cleaning out the puss, Appling antibiotics and allowing new tissue to grow and form a solid scar.
You will not be changing the memories. You will not be erasing them. Processing abuse memories is a way to take back your power, a way to gain control, and above all away to re-feather your wings so you can return to the sky.
Abuse beats you down.
Having the abuse stop/end allows you to be able to grow again. But most do it with a flinch in there shoulder, a defensive posture. Proper therapy will help you to change your stance so you approach life with open arms instead of a posture that indicates...I'm here, but I'm tensed up in preparation for the blows.
You choose your pace in which you go sifting back through memories.
A therapist should NEVER push - demand - expect you to present memoires to dissect.
When you are ready, let the progression of memory surfing unfold as it does. You will find things will not unravel in a linear line. Your going to jump all over the place. Let your mind dictate the direction. memories are coded in there own patterns in your mind. Don't be surprised to be working on 5 year old childhood memories and then 34 year old adult memories.
What is the purpose of this...all of it....what is the elusive comprehension you seek?
dear one....
how many times in your childhood did you wish/pray, someone would come for you? Someone who would see your pain and rescue you.
The one you have waited a lifetime to come for you, is the one you see in the mirror. She knows where you hide in your mind. Let her come and take you through the maze of monsters, let her loosen the chains, wrap you in her arms and save you.
You may not feel like it, but you are fierce warrior who has survived. Your shield is dented but strong. Your skin is scarred but free. Do not stop fighting until all of you are rescued.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
have to pay the piper
Darn it. Now I have to pay the piper. I have been trying of late to not post angry blogs that do nothing but put out negative energy and show case my ability to be a gold medal winner at adult onset temper tantrums.
So now I must write a nice blog to make up for yesterdays.
Remember when they forced Wednesday Addams to smile at the summer camp? yeah...that's the smile I have pasted on my face. heh.
So now I must write a nice blog to make up for yesterdays.
Remember when they forced Wednesday Addams to smile at the summer camp? yeah...that's the smile I have pasted on my face. heh.
Monday, October 19, 2015
pissed the hell off - TRIGGER
* * * * TRIGGER for angry pissed off rage /rant * * * *
Do you really think I ENJOY being this weight?
Don't you think I wouldn't SELL MY FUCKING SOUL to loose this weight?!
Every extra pound I carry increases the pain I endure with my multiple orthopedic issues. STANDING, SITTING, WALKING, LAYING, FUCKING BREATHING HURTS. I AM IN CHRONIC FUCKING PAIN.
ANYTHING I DO INCREASES THIS PAIN.
ANYTHING
There are days the fatigue is so great it feels like I am TRYING TO FUNCTION IN A DEAD CORPSE.
FUCK YOU.
Do you really think I ENJOY being this weight?
Don't you think I wouldn't SELL MY FUCKING SOUL to loose this weight?!
Every extra pound I carry increases the pain I endure with my multiple orthopedic issues. STANDING, SITTING, WALKING, LAYING, FUCKING BREATHING HURTS. I AM IN CHRONIC FUCKING PAIN.
ANYTHING I DO INCREASES THIS PAIN.
ANYTHING
There are days the fatigue is so great it feels like I am TRYING TO FUNCTION IN A DEAD CORPSE.
I am faced every shift at work with the fear/knowledge that I may squat down and not be able to stand again. I should not be doing the physically demanding job that I do. But I DO IT. I do it through the pain.
Oh and hell yes its a lot of pain.
Peripheral neuropathy in both arms, both legs.
Bone on bone arthritis in my neck.
Herniated disks L4 and L5 and S1.
Fused pubic symphysis
myofascial pain syndrome
surgical adhesions/scar tissue in pelvis
chronic misaligned sacrum
ligament damage to left foot arch
Plantar fasciitis in both feet
Damaged sternal cartridge
Recent labs work indicating muscle damage
degenerative changes to right knee joint
I have to FUCKING beg for pain meds, and the doctors all make me feel like a piece of SHIT for having the gall to ask for pain meds. So its rare I bother to ask for them.
I have been declared permanently partial disabled. I should be living off the tax payers and being a welfare bum.
BUT NO I AM WORKING MY GODDAMN ASS OFF. And using aspirin for the pain.
So when you say... "the tread mill should be easy for you"
I get my knickers in a twist.
FUCKING GETTING OUT OF BED IS A CHORE. SQUATING DOWN AND STANDING BACK UP IS VERY DIFFICULT. My legs go completely numb after I have been standing 5-10 minutes. I CAN'T FEEL THEM, I HAVE TO BE CAREFUL WHEN MOVING TO MAKE SURE THEY ARE COMING WITH ME.
There is NOTHING EASY ABOUT EXCERCISING FOR ME.
and gawd that just guts me....
I ran cross country, I climbed trees, I swam, I rode horses, I roller skated, played basketball, turned cartwheels....I was an active athlete.
All lost to my injuries and declining health.
a 10 hour shift on my feet is ALL I can handle...that is 10 HOURS OF INCREASED PAIN.
"the tread mill should be easy for you"
fuck no.
there is nothing easy about being me.
Friday, October 9, 2015
The secret to catching lightning
Simple times.
Laying on the warm side walk trying to get the pill bugs to walk on my grass stained hands.
My tennis shoes still wet from running through the sprinkler.
Grandfather gets out of his faded truck and adjusts his overalls. He shuffles to the bed and digs around in the tools. My eyes switch to watch him as he pulls out a hammer. He digs a dusty red handkerchief from his bib pocket and heads my way.
I sit up.
He squats slowly down next to me. "show this to your brothers." he says quietly, dumping the contents of the kerchief onto the sidewalk next to me.
Almost before my mind can identify the quarts stones on the sidewalk, he strikes the first one with the hammer.
My eyes widen as I see tiny sparks flash as he whacks it into a chunky powder.
We share a secrete smile as he offers me the hammer.
And the idea that there are hidden magical things in ordinary objects is implanted in my head.
Before long, the wind pushes summer away and ushers in the rolling grey clouds that bring the fat heavy rain drops.
Thunder rumbles in the belly of the clouds.
My older brother collects four D batteries and designs the first lightning trap I ever saw.
He lays them out on the sidewalk in front of the house. and squats next to them eyes looking towards the clouds. He calls me over.
I stand next to him as he excitedly tells me, "I'm going to catch a bolt of lightning! This is my lightning trap!"
My gut sours and I feel the fear creep into my heart. I hastily look up and run up onto the front porch. I pace nervously watching him fiddle with his trap. Half expecting a bolt of lightning to blast him to smithereens. Every time the thunder rolls I run inside in fear.
Eventually he leaves to go find more batteries.
I open the door and run like a manic out and grab the batteries and fling them in to the bushes. I don't want my brother bolted dead by lightning. I turn to go back inside and the hair on my arm bristles as lightning flashes over head.
I feel the sickly cold of the adrenaline release as I scream and take flight.
And the idea that the trap worked is implanted in my head.
Not long after in science class and we are discussing properties. How things have a solid, liquid and gas state.
I raise my hand, the shyness binds my tongue and I lower my hand. My question unasked.
what is lightning?
I read about it in the encyclopedias and learn its electricity/plasma.
I like that it doesn't fall into the other categories.
Or does it?
My mind remember the sparking quartz...the chilling trickle of the adrenaline...and I know I have answered my own questions.
The solid form of lightning is quartz.
The liquid form of lightning is adrenaline.
The gaseous form of lightning is....warm wind.
Knowing the forms it has makes catching it a lot simpler. To catch lightning all you need is 4 D batteries, and a net made of imagination. To set it free all you need is a hammer. But you don't have to catch it at all, you can just pick it up, and put it in your pocket.
Laying on the warm side walk trying to get the pill bugs to walk on my grass stained hands.
My tennis shoes still wet from running through the sprinkler.
Grandfather gets out of his faded truck and adjusts his overalls. He shuffles to the bed and digs around in the tools. My eyes switch to watch him as he pulls out a hammer. He digs a dusty red handkerchief from his bib pocket and heads my way.
I sit up.
He squats slowly down next to me. "show this to your brothers." he says quietly, dumping the contents of the kerchief onto the sidewalk next to me.
Almost before my mind can identify the quarts stones on the sidewalk, he strikes the first one with the hammer.
My eyes widen as I see tiny sparks flash as he whacks it into a chunky powder.
We share a secrete smile as he offers me the hammer.
And the idea that there are hidden magical things in ordinary objects is implanted in my head.
Before long, the wind pushes summer away and ushers in the rolling grey clouds that bring the fat heavy rain drops.
Thunder rumbles in the belly of the clouds.
My older brother collects four D batteries and designs the first lightning trap I ever saw.
He lays them out on the sidewalk in front of the house. and squats next to them eyes looking towards the clouds. He calls me over.
I stand next to him as he excitedly tells me, "I'm going to catch a bolt of lightning! This is my lightning trap!"
My gut sours and I feel the fear creep into my heart. I hastily look up and run up onto the front porch. I pace nervously watching him fiddle with his trap. Half expecting a bolt of lightning to blast him to smithereens. Every time the thunder rolls I run inside in fear.
Eventually he leaves to go find more batteries.
I open the door and run like a manic out and grab the batteries and fling them in to the bushes. I don't want my brother bolted dead by lightning. I turn to go back inside and the hair on my arm bristles as lightning flashes over head.
I feel the sickly cold of the adrenaline release as I scream and take flight.
And the idea that the trap worked is implanted in my head.
Not long after in science class and we are discussing properties. How things have a solid, liquid and gas state.
I raise my hand, the shyness binds my tongue and I lower my hand. My question unasked.
what is lightning?
I read about it in the encyclopedias and learn its electricity/plasma.
I like that it doesn't fall into the other categories.
Or does it?
My mind remember the sparking quartz...the chilling trickle of the adrenaline...and I know I have answered my own questions.
The solid form of lightning is quartz.
The liquid form of lightning is adrenaline.
The gaseous form of lightning is....warm wind.
Knowing the forms it has makes catching it a lot simpler. To catch lightning all you need is 4 D batteries, and a net made of imagination. To set it free all you need is a hammer. But you don't have to catch it at all, you can just pick it up, and put it in your pocket.
Monday, September 21, 2015
By Fives - the secret to catching lightning - circa 2015
It's that time again. I am closing fast on turning 50. I filled in the latest set of 5's today.
By Fives
I was born on the kitchen table
tumbled down sixteen stairs
attempted suicide
and placed second in a beauty pageant
all before I turned five.
I've eaten yellow snow on a dare
snorted grape soda up my nose
melted army men on the stove
learned the secret to catching lightning
got lost in Disney Land
watched three of my brothers die
and froze my tongue to a stop sign pole
all before I turned ten.
I danced naked as snow fell in the redwoods
felt dirt shoveled down upon me
as Ro____ buried me alive
wore the jewels of the Princess of Lippy Germany
held séances in the dark
Disfigured Ri___'s face with a pickaxe
eaten fire and grazed like a cow
and completed a novel
all before I turned fifteen.
I've felt the hand of a demented man cuff me across the face
flunked English 121
discovered Halloween candy I hid when I was seven
stared deep into the emerald green eyes of a panther
her warm breath on mine
and held the hands of countless people as they have died
all before I turned twenty
I've delivered puppies in the backseat
while parked at Shop n' Kart
journeyed into the dreamtime
got lost again in Disney Land
grew hair on my neck
crushed myself in my car
kisses a hog
and hung candy canes in the forest
all before I turned twenty-five
I've danced sacred dances
with eagle feathers in my hair and doe's skin on mine
began dreaming in Japanese
taught my son the secret to catching lightning
felt the bay mare rear and flip....
caught her in my lap
and fell in love with my friend John
all before I turned thirty
I've nursed piglets
watched three friends die of brain tumors
pieced my nipple
castled kingside and opened a door to a whole new world
accepted a proposal in the park
joined the Russell clan
all before I turned thirty-five
I've switched my mind off and hibernated
got lost in cyberspace
sold my childhood on EBay
gave birth to a son who almost died
got out of debt
and then right back in
all before I turned forty
I've been kissed by a sea lion
fought with my daughter
before she even left my uterus
swallowed radiation
got lost in Norrath
got lost in my own head again.
set sail on the seas of depression
all before I turned forty-five
Threw away my novel
Started a blog
Taught the internet the secret to catching lightning
got crushed again by a car
switched from LTC to ALF
won a game of chess against a Fide Master
Got put on the right medication for my head, and
learned to play Mahjong
all before I turned fifty
(c) Jan 9, 1992
When I posted this last time, It got a few comments.
http://gettingthebucksout.blogspot.com/2012/07/by-fives.html
Take note of particularly this one:
Blogzilly , July 3, 2012 4:49 PM
July 3, 2012 - - - - 2012???!!! Great scott!! Do I always take this long to answer questions? No wonder I don't have friends!! They probably got really tired of waiting for me to do things!!
Thank you for asking Blogzilly...your question actually helped me a lot. Now I can fill in another part of my fives.
"Taught the internet the secret to catching lightening"
Which I will do in the next post...
...I promise...
no really....I will...
By Fives
I was born on the kitchen table
tumbled down sixteen stairs
attempted suicide
and placed second in a beauty pageant
all before I turned five.
I've eaten yellow snow on a dare
snorted grape soda up my nose
melted army men on the stove
learned the secret to catching lightning
got lost in Disney Land
watched three of my brothers die
and froze my tongue to a stop sign pole
all before I turned ten.
I danced naked as snow fell in the redwoods
felt dirt shoveled down upon me
as Ro____ buried me alive
wore the jewels of the Princess of Lippy Germany
held séances in the dark
Disfigured Ri___'s face with a pickaxe
eaten fire and grazed like a cow
and completed a novel
all before I turned fifteen.
I've felt the hand of a demented man cuff me across the face
flunked English 121
discovered Halloween candy I hid when I was seven
stared deep into the emerald green eyes of a panther
her warm breath on mine
and held the hands of countless people as they have died
all before I turned twenty
I've delivered puppies in the backseat
while parked at Shop n' Kart
journeyed into the dreamtime
got lost again in Disney Land
grew hair on my neck
crushed myself in my car
kisses a hog
and hung candy canes in the forest
all before I turned twenty-five
I've danced sacred dances
with eagle feathers in my hair and doe's skin on mine
began dreaming in Japanese
taught my son the secret to catching lightning
felt the bay mare rear and flip....
caught her in my lap
and fell in love with my friend John
all before I turned thirty
I've nursed piglets
watched three friends die of brain tumors
pieced my nipple
castled kingside and opened a door to a whole new world
accepted a proposal in the park
joined the Russell clan
all before I turned thirty-five
I've switched my mind off and hibernated
got lost in cyberspace
sold my childhood on EBay
gave birth to a son who almost died
got out of debt
and then right back in
all before I turned forty
I've been kissed by a sea lion
fought with my daughter
before she even left my uterus
swallowed radiation
got lost in Norrath
got lost in my own head again.
set sail on the seas of depression
all before I turned forty-five
Threw away my novel
Started a blog
Taught the internet the secret to catching lightning
got crushed again by a car
switched from LTC to ALF
won a game of chess against a Fide Master
Got put on the right medication for my head, and
learned to play Mahjong
all before I turned fifty
(c) Jan 9, 1992
When I posted this last time, It got a few comments.
http://gettingthebucksout.blogspot.com/2012/07/by-fives.html
Take note of particularly this one:
Blogzilly , July 3, 2012 4:49 PM
And how DO you catch lightning, anyway?
July 3, 2012 - - - - 2012???!!! Great scott!! Do I always take this long to answer questions? No wonder I don't have friends!! They probably got really tired of waiting for me to do things!!
Thank you for asking Blogzilly...your question actually helped me a lot. Now I can fill in another part of my fives.
"Taught the internet the secret to catching lightening"
Which I will do in the next post...
...I promise...
no really....I will...
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Moyamoya disease - infant - childhood - a hand in the darkness
Yes this is for you.
Your google search lead you here.
I left this here for you.
A tiny life preserver in the chaotic sea you are fighting to tread water in.
*holds out my hand*
*holds yours tightly*
Gently takes your other hand and places it on your heart.
Start the journey here.
How are you?
Have you had time to catch your breath yet?
Your in the wringer right now, and probably haven't had a chance to deal with anything. You went straight from parent of a healthy child to a life threatening battle for your child's life. You went from just a parent to a special needs parent in one scary heat beat.
How do you have time to process it all and focus on your child? You don't. You do what you need to do, you keep running, and treading water and not looking back.
You know its a looming monstrous tsunami behind you and you are afraid to turn and face it and deal with it. Afraid it is going to swamp you.
The hospital will treat your child's illness and ignore the trauma that was happening to you right in front of their eyes.
Hospitals are used to dealing with this level of chaos, they get numb to it. You on the other hand just had the rug jerked out from under you and the hospital staff isn't even offering you a hand up.
You should have been offered help too. This is one flaw in the process I wish could be corrected.
I'm sorry they didn't acknowledge the pain you are in.
The voices you need to hear are out there. The internet is your friend. Reach out and meet those who are reaching back with there words and life experiences.
Lean on every support person you have. Speak it all out. Just tell them, I need and ear, please just listen, please just let me talk and you validate me by listening and bearing witness to me. Just let me cry for a moment on your shoulder. Tell them, just wrap your arms around me tight so I can cry it out. Release that tension so you can focus without your emotions rocking the boat.
The buzzing doctors/neurologists/surgeons and nurses are all going to be focused on your child and they are going to be throwing an awful lot of strange medical jargon at you and things are going to move fast. Your going to get a crash course in anatomy and neurology, physical, occupation, and speech therapy. Take notes. Request information on paper. Get a copy of your child's chart before discharge. (when they ask you why you need it tell them "for continued care".) So you can read over it later when your heart isn't beating so loud and drowning out every thing their telling you.
Before you are ready for it, they will be sending you home. Home, without the extra added security of having round the clock nurses/doctors.
To be alone with a child you love but are feeling out of your element to be responsible for. This is a steep learning curve, be gentle with yourself as you are learning this new skill set.
You will get messages from well meaning friends/family like:
"I'm so glad things are back to normal now" or "I'm so glad ____ is fine now"
Don't pretend things are "back to normal" or "fine".
Things have changed.
Let yourself process this on your own pace. Take the time to take care of yourself in this.
*gives you a firm hug*
*hands you a sandwich, and a handful of Kleenex, and lets you get back to searching the web for information.*
Your google search lead you here.
I left this here for you.
A tiny life preserver in the chaotic sea you are fighting to tread water in.
*holds out my hand*
*holds yours tightly*
Gently takes your other hand and places it on your heart.
Start the journey here.
How are you?
Have you had time to catch your breath yet?
Your in the wringer right now, and probably haven't had a chance to deal with anything. You went straight from parent of a healthy child to a life threatening battle for your child's life. You went from just a parent to a special needs parent in one scary heat beat.
How do you have time to process it all and focus on your child? You don't. You do what you need to do, you keep running, and treading water and not looking back.
You know its a looming monstrous tsunami behind you and you are afraid to turn and face it and deal with it. Afraid it is going to swamp you.
The hospital will treat your child's illness and ignore the trauma that was happening to you right in front of their eyes.
Hospitals are used to dealing with this level of chaos, they get numb to it. You on the other hand just had the rug jerked out from under you and the hospital staff isn't even offering you a hand up.
You should have been offered help too. This is one flaw in the process I wish could be corrected.
I'm sorry they didn't acknowledge the pain you are in.
The voices you need to hear are out there. The internet is your friend. Reach out and meet those who are reaching back with there words and life experiences.
Lean on every support person you have. Speak it all out. Just tell them, I need and ear, please just listen, please just let me talk and you validate me by listening and bearing witness to me. Just let me cry for a moment on your shoulder. Tell them, just wrap your arms around me tight so I can cry it out. Release that tension so you can focus without your emotions rocking the boat.
The buzzing doctors/neurologists/surgeons and nurses are all going to be focused on your child and they are going to be throwing an awful lot of strange medical jargon at you and things are going to move fast. Your going to get a crash course in anatomy and neurology, physical, occupation, and speech therapy. Take notes. Request information on paper. Get a copy of your child's chart before discharge. (when they ask you why you need it tell them "for continued care".) So you can read over it later when your heart isn't beating so loud and drowning out every thing their telling you.
Before you are ready for it, they will be sending you home. Home, without the extra added security of having round the clock nurses/doctors.
To be alone with a child you love but are feeling out of your element to be responsible for. This is a steep learning curve, be gentle with yourself as you are learning this new skill set.
You will get messages from well meaning friends/family like:
"I'm so glad things are back to normal now" or "I'm so glad ____ is fine now"
Don't pretend things are "back to normal" or "fine".
Things have changed.
Let yourself process this on your own pace. Take the time to take care of yourself in this.
*gives you a firm hug*
*hands you a sandwich, and a handful of Kleenex, and lets you get back to searching the web for information.*
Sunday, September 13, 2015
Angry, tired...SI/suicide trigger
***************************** TRIGGER *****************************
You know something?
I am so afraid that someday the circumstances will magically align and I will be alone when I am hit with a rolling wave of suicidalness that will end my life.
Been under the "waves" for 2 weeks now. That is what I call it when I am faced with dealing with slow rolling waves of urges to end my life/burn the shit out of my self.
The kind that are submerged and threating to drown me at any moment.
The universe so far in my life has been kind and spared me the perfect storm. I fear that day that coping skills fail.
And I answer the long whispering questions...just how much can you burn before the pain extinguishes the pain?
ANGRYASFOOKRIGHTNOWROLLINGWAVESOFURGESTOINFLICTNEEDLESSHARM
Chaps my ass to know that what is causing this is my own aging body. The question is will I survive peri-menopause? and if I do will there be more hell on the other side?
cause omg if there isn't the return to peace in my head...I will end up dead a lot sooner then I planned to be.
The books say, women reach a heightened state mentally after menopause, which is why so many wise women are elders.
The books also say after nursing your breast will return to there original size.
Me and my current DD's - former B's know this to be horseshit six years post nursing.
WHY DO WOMEN LIE TO EACH OTHER LIKE THIS?
I'm tired of being lied too.
I'm just plan tired.
tired of fighting, resisting, living like this.
and fuck....its only September.
shitballs in my cereal.
You know something?
I am so afraid that someday the circumstances will magically align and I will be alone when I am hit with a rolling wave of suicidalness that will end my life.
Been under the "waves" for 2 weeks now. That is what I call it when I am faced with dealing with slow rolling waves of urges to end my life/burn the shit out of my self.
The kind that are submerged and threating to drown me at any moment.
The universe so far in my life has been kind and spared me the perfect storm. I fear that day that coping skills fail.
And I answer the long whispering questions...just how much can you burn before the pain extinguishes the pain?
ANGRYASFOOKRIGHTNOWROLLINGWAVESOFURGESTOINFLICTNEEDLESSHARM
Chaps my ass to know that what is causing this is my own aging body. The question is will I survive peri-menopause? and if I do will there be more hell on the other side?
cause omg if there isn't the return to peace in my head...I will end up dead a lot sooner then I planned to be.
The books say, women reach a heightened state mentally after menopause, which is why so many wise women are elders.
The books also say after nursing your breast will return to there original size.
Me and my current DD's - former B's know this to be horseshit six years post nursing.
WHY DO WOMEN LIE TO EACH OTHER LIKE THIS?
I'm tired of being lied too.
I'm just plan tired.
tired of fighting, resisting, living like this.
and fuck....its only September.
shitballs in my cereal.
Friday, September 11, 2015
waffling ....triggery for SI
I'm waffling at the moment.
Wanting to write.....needing to write, but when I set fingers to keys...
Its dark energy.
Angry, blazing words that spring to the tips of my fingers.
Sigh.
Not sure where this is brewing within. That's a lie, I do to...I just don't know if I should indulge it? or wait till that particular pot of festering memory-stew cools a bit on the counter in my mind.
part of me want to unleash it and watch it fly. heh. Like an angry monkey slinging poo.
Another part of me wonders...is there a way to uncork it and write the pain into a powerful piece that will help others.
Yet another part of me is packing to return to the winter slumber land of S.A.D.
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Waves after waves of wanting to burn my self. Just for sport.
I hate the self injury urges that are like that. The ones that have no immediate trigger..just a stray desire to inflict pain where there is none.
I have two goals this winter.
One I mentioned last post.
The other is to put to paper as much of the "forest stories" as I can. With the goal next year of collecting them all into a coherent collection and self publish it through one of the many on line sites available.
To make money and be rich? To be famous?
No. That has never been the goal of the forest stories. To ease others pain for a moment, to reach out and connect with another and make them feel seen and understood....yes, those.
Sadly the best time for me to write forest stories is in the darkness of the S.A.D. Being deeply depressed is unfortunately....a very creative environment for me. (as well as so many others)
bleeeharf...
Wanting to write.....needing to write, but when I set fingers to keys...
Its dark energy.
Angry, blazing words that spring to the tips of my fingers.
Sigh.
Not sure where this is brewing within. That's a lie, I do to...I just don't know if I should indulge it? or wait till that particular pot of festering memory-stew cools a bit on the counter in my mind.
part of me want to unleash it and watch it fly. heh. Like an angry monkey slinging poo.
Another part of me wonders...is there a way to uncork it and write the pain into a powerful piece that will help others.
Yet another part of me is packing to return to the winter slumber land of S.A.D.
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Waves after waves of wanting to burn my self. Just for sport.
I hate the self injury urges that are like that. The ones that have no immediate trigger..just a stray desire to inflict pain where there is none.
I have two goals this winter.
One I mentioned last post.
The other is to put to paper as much of the "forest stories" as I can. With the goal next year of collecting them all into a coherent collection and self publish it through one of the many on line sites available.
To make money and be rich? To be famous?
No. That has never been the goal of the forest stories. To ease others pain for a moment, to reach out and connect with another and make them feel seen and understood....yes, those.
Sadly the best time for me to write forest stories is in the darkness of the S.A.D. Being deeply depressed is unfortunately....a very creative environment for me. (as well as so many others)
bleeeharf...
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Adios Handcrank Productions...Hello...
I tried to do some cartooning over the summer and discovered that the arthritis in my hands has progressed to a point I can no longer do the fine detailed work.
So the time has come to complete the childhood dream of publishing my books. It's now or never. I have somewhere in the neighborhood of FORTY unfinished drafts in my Handcrank Productions box.
Having children of my own just ground my book writing/illustrating to a dead halt. I have done only three books in the last 15 years....and one was nearly finished.
I think last count there were 30 or so completed books. I need to deal with the masters and make any last changes to them. Then I need to decide if I am making colored copies or leaving them as coloring books.
But first of I must rename my little "publishing company,"
Back in the 70's is when it got its name. I was at the park playing with the tractor. We were taking turns cranking it get it "started." Endless summer hours deeply entrenched in imaginary play.
After weeks of this it occurred to me to name my then still imaginary publishing company, "Handcranked productions."
I new I would write books even at that age.
I also knew they would be so off beat no one would publish them due to my poor spelling. So my only hope was to create my own "company."
Our logo was....and still is....
(Interesting trivia - I started counting copies at one point - see the number stamped on the book? I estimate there were an easy 1000 copies done prior to the counting. Next number on the counter is 725. So my dream of having a ton of books out there has already happened.)
The initial idea was....I would hand write them, hand copy them, hand color them, hand bind them and then hand them over!
Gosh darn I was a clever one when I was a child! Bwahahaha! aah, such sweet childhood dreams...
When I finally got rolling I did just that. for a total of ONE print run.
The first thing to go was, hand coping. Hello zerox machine at the library.
then the 'ed' fell off of the name....and we became: handcrank productions
Then they became coloring books and the hand colored ceased to exist.
Hand binding when soon after....hello book binder.
There are in existence some of the originals still. Hand written, copied, colored and bound. Those will be worth $$$$ someday....dreams the young girl at the park, summer wind in her hair as she spins the tractor's crank...
I speak of the company with terms like "we", "our", etc because there were three of us originally. One has died and the other one has drifted off and grown up.
This is my winter project.
because....these books are waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too cool not to share with the world.
that one will be so much fun to color....
this one will NOT be....see my glaring error??? the rainbow is suppose to be upside down and the colors too. Go on ask me which one of my books I never want to color again...LOL...I had to color back to back copies of Rainbow Flip in 1995 because of this and even all these years later I'm still mad I messed that up!
I hope my winter project will give me some direction as the darkness of the winter depression descends in my mind, and I return to hibernation mode.
I need to go hang our at the park and absorb the childhood energy before I start this project. My life is heavy on the other end of life energy right now. I need to tap back into that magical time.
a time of wind, laughter, green grass and sticky fingers from popsicle's....
Before I go about doing this, I need to rename the company. To give it a new name. (insert a ton of legal reasons I can't use the name it used to have).
I have been tossing around ideas. SLUG is currently at the top of the list, cause that is how my brain rolls....
I think I may work with the names of the original and most frequent characters in the books...Bonnie and Todd.
So the time has come to complete the childhood dream of publishing my books. It's now or never. I have somewhere in the neighborhood of FORTY unfinished drafts in my Handcrank Productions box.
Having children of my own just ground my book writing/illustrating to a dead halt. I have done only three books in the last 15 years....and one was nearly finished.
I think last count there were 30 or so completed books. I need to deal with the masters and make any last changes to them. Then I need to decide if I am making colored copies or leaving them as coloring books.
But first of I must rename my little "publishing company,"
Back in the 70's is when it got its name. I was at the park playing with the tractor. We were taking turns cranking it get it "started." Endless summer hours deeply entrenched in imaginary play.
After weeks of this it occurred to me to name my then still imaginary publishing company, "Handcranked productions."
I new I would write books even at that age.
I also knew they would be so off beat no one would publish them due to my poor spelling. So my only hope was to create my own "company."
Our logo was....and still is....
(Interesting trivia - I started counting copies at one point - see the number stamped on the book? I estimate there were an easy 1000 copies done prior to the counting. Next number on the counter is 725. So my dream of having a ton of books out there has already happened.)
The initial idea was....I would hand write them, hand copy them, hand color them, hand bind them and then hand them over!
Gosh darn I was a clever one when I was a child! Bwahahaha! aah, such sweet childhood dreams...
When I finally got rolling I did just that. for a total of ONE print run.
The first thing to go was, hand coping. Hello zerox machine at the library.
then the 'ed' fell off of the name....and we became: handcrank productions
Then they became coloring books and the hand colored ceased to exist.
Hand binding when soon after....hello book binder.
There are in existence some of the originals still. Hand written, copied, colored and bound. Those will be worth $$$$ someday....dreams the young girl at the park, summer wind in her hair as she spins the tractor's crank...
I speak of the company with terms like "we", "our", etc because there were three of us originally. One has died and the other one has drifted off and grown up.
This is my winter project.
because....these books are waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too cool not to share with the world.
that one will be so much fun to color....
this one will NOT be....see my glaring error??? the rainbow is suppose to be upside down and the colors too. Go on ask me which one of my books I never want to color again...LOL...I had to color back to back copies of Rainbow Flip in 1995 because of this and even all these years later I'm still mad I messed that up!
I hope my winter project will give me some direction as the darkness of the winter depression descends in my mind, and I return to hibernation mode.
I need to go hang our at the park and absorb the childhood energy before I start this project. My life is heavy on the other end of life energy right now. I need to tap back into that magical time.
a time of wind, laughter, green grass and sticky fingers from popsicle's....
Before I go about doing this, I need to rename the company. To give it a new name. (insert a ton of legal reasons I can't use the name it used to have).
I have been tossing around ideas. SLUG is currently at the top of the list, cause that is how my brain rolls....
I think I may work with the names of the original and most frequent characters in the books...Bonnie and Todd.
I'm totally open to ideas...(looks at my creative friends)
Think of a bunch of kids crammed in a sleeping bag and sliding down the stairs.
Go back in time, to the freedom of a youthful body that flies in new sneakers, that can ride the wind horses, and know with a strong heart that leaping from the roof with a pillowcase parachute will be perfectly safe...
...drinking creek water, catching crawdads and wearing blackberry warpaint...
That is the feeling of my kids books.
EDIT:
well hells bells this hasn't even been published yet and....and...just like that, I renamed the company.
I just did another re-through/proofing look at this blog and BAM there is the name I was searching for...Blackberry Warpaint.
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