the sound: Santana ft. Rob Thomas - Smooth, Santana Featuring Chad Kroeger - Into The Night, Santana & Clapton – Jingo, Santana ft John Lee Hooker, Santana ft Steven Tyler - Just feel better , Santana - Put Your Lights On, Carlos Santana et Buddy Guy - Montreux Jazz Festival
We waited well into the night for news of Robert. By midnight every relative within a hundred mile radius was in that waiting room. Many of them wailing with Mrs. K and the rest stoically waiting for news…a couple of times younger nurses came into the room trying to “shush” the family but most times before anyone could say anything to the family an older nurse would come charging in hot on their heels and stop them. More often than not they just closed the waiting room door to keep the noise down to a dull roar.
An elderly Dr came into the room some time close to 4 AM, the ensuing hush was immediate. The Dr approached Mrs. K as if he knew her; apparently she’d been here once or twice before.
Rosie took the opportunity to lean over and inform me that Robert would be none too happy about me telling their Mama the whole story. Grey shushed her.
The Dr informed Mrs. K that Robert had come through the surgery and that the next 48 hours were critical in his recovery. She sobbed into one of the never ending supplies of lace trimmed handkerchiefs she carried in that massive suitcase she called a purse.
He turned and addressed the family with some exasperation…”there will be no visits by anyone while Robert is in isolation this time…therefore there will be no cigarettes near his oxygen, no beer in his water cup and no wee toddy’s of the Irish to help him get through the night!
Do I make myself clear?” he asked, his glance taking in the whole clan. “I mean it…this is critical!”
Mrs. K picked her head up from her handkerchief long enough to look fair disgusted that he would even suggest such a thing…but I caught the sheepish grins of a couple of his brothers and at lease one of his sisters…so I was pretty sure the Dr had good grounds.
“I think your best course of action” he continued, “would be to take yerselves all home, to rest, and to take some time in the morning to make arrangements for David.”
This of course brought about a fresh set of wailing and prompted Mrs. K to say that she’d not be leaving until “her Robert” was clear enough for her to tell him exactly what she thought of his troublesome ways.
She turned to Grey and announced that he was to be the one making the arrangements…and that I; “the girl” was to help.
“Mmmme?” I gulped…”shouldn’t I just get on a bus er something? I mean I haven’t even seen Boomer in a day er two and I could just as well go home as be any more trouble.”
“Nay trouble” admonished Mrs. K. “nay argument…y’ll help Tyrone with the arrangements so that I know my Daithi will get a proper Christian buryin not one o them biker hooligans”
“Christian?” I squeaked…”but I’m not a Christian.”
The silence that ensued was palpable.
“Of course you are a Christian child,” she responded “you yerself told me that yer fadder is an Anglican”
I thought furiously of what I had told her, and what I hadn’t, and then of the fighting between the Protestants and Catholics in Ireland. For a minute I thought I’d just tell her that I was Catholic to stop this discussion, but in the end I told her “I’m pagan, a witch….I’m Wiccan.”
She glared at me for a moment…and then began, “A witch now is it? Well then, I"ll not be caring if yer green with speckled dots!” her voice began to rise in decibel and timber again…”I want my son buried properly - well and good…will ye no see tae this girl?”
“Yes ma’am” I replied, taking note of the look of glee on Rosie’s face.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
thinkin
today
I am going to meet up
with a bunch of friends
I haven't seen for a while
and as a result
I've been thinking on
where I've been
and who I've become
and what I've learned
along the way
I've been thinking about
how it is
that we all got to this place?
and I've been thinking about
just what it was
that I did
to get here?
what did I do to these friends
to keep them away from me for so long?
did I judge them?
did I hold myself above them?
was I mean?
or unthinkingly cruel?
or was it just
a general malaise and apathy?
I don't know...
but being a firm beleiver in
accountablity
I'm ready to take my share of the blame
are you?
I am going to meet up
with a bunch of friends
I haven't seen for a while
and as a result
I've been thinking on
where I've been
and who I've become
and what I've learned
along the way
I've been thinking about
how it is
that we all got to this place?
and I've been thinking about
just what it was
that I did
to get here?
what did I do to these friends
to keep them away from me for so long?
did I judge them?
did I hold myself above them?
was I mean?
or unthinkingly cruel?
or was it just
a general malaise and apathy?
I don't know...
but being a firm beleiver in
accountablity
I'm ready to take my share of the blame
are you?
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Summers here!
I feel like dancin a jig
summer is finally here
I am diggin the heat!
however...in almost no time at all
I'll be complainin...
see....
the "nuclear physicists"
that run this building
took it upon themselves
to cut down
15 trees in the yard
the day before yesterday
and my apartment faces west
so I get sun all afternoon
and evening
last night I wore my sunglasses
to eat supper
but it's ok
cos I own the grand daddy
of all air conditioners
that's been residing
in my store room
for 10 years
I'll put that in the window
and watch all them
wankers that live her
whine about the noise
LOL~!
summer is finally here
I am diggin the heat!
however...in almost no time at all
I'll be complainin...
see....
the "nuclear physicists"
that run this building
took it upon themselves
to cut down
15 trees in the yard
the day before yesterday
and my apartment faces west
so I get sun all afternoon
and evening
last night I wore my sunglasses
to eat supper
but it's ok
cos I own the grand daddy
of all air conditioners
that's been residing
in my store room
for 10 years
I'll put that in the window
and watch all them
wankers that live her
whine about the noise
LOL~!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
A wonderful Message by George Carlin:
I've searched the internet and can't find anything that suggests that this is a scam...and frankly....at this point in my personal life...it just rings very true....Wyz
A wonderful Message by George Carlin:
The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.
We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much , and pray too seldom.
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.
We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.
We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete...
Remember; spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.
Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.
Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.
Remember, to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.
Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.
Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.
AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
If you don't send this to at least 8 people....Who cares?
George Carlin
A wonderful Message by George Carlin:
The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.
We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much , and pray too seldom.
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.
We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.
We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete...
Remember; spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.
Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.
Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.
Remember, to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.
Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.
Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.
AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
If you don't send this to at least 8 people....Who cares?
George Carlin
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Chapter 73
Mrs. K started to bark questions and people started to move...in no time at all the waiting room was empty but for her children and myself. No sane biker would have attempted to withstand that woman’s grief.
She alternately barked questions and wailed like a banshee for the better part of 10 minutes before a nurse came into the waiting room to advise her she should “try to hold it down”.
The very suggestion raised Mrs. K’s volume and decibel level substantially…she tore a huge strip off of the nurse and then went back to her grief.
Jaimie the cop paced the floor and glared at his brothers and sisters balefully, stopping occasionally to pat his mother’s shoulder. Grey and Rosie look exactly like one would expect them to look had they been pierced balloons.
The clock seemed to be stuck on the 6 permanently and each waiting second seemed drawn out to take forever. By now there were upwards of a dozen family members collected and pacing and wailing along with their mother.
I watched the family dynamics take shape around the room, the “good” boys and girls clustered around their mother, speaking platitudes and nodding knowingly and derisively at the “black sheep” members of the family. The black sheep members all sat or stood leaning against walls arms crossed morosely…lips pressed firmly shut…mute.
Suddenly it “felt” as if the climate in the room had changed. I looked up to see Mrs. K standing before me, Grey and Rosie. She held a trembling hand out to me and said…”the girl will tell me the truth”.
Grey straightened up in his chair, and began to “now Mama” but she silenced him with a withering glance as she leaned forward to grasp my clammy hands in my lap.
Her fingers crushed my hands; I was amazed at the strength in this old woman…”the truth now girl” she said, “you owe me that”. So I hung my head down and stared at those fingers and told her the story of the arrival of the now disappeared friends, and the trip to the Silver Dollar. I went on to describe the shock of Robert and Snot swinging through the bar doors covered completely in blood and the ensuing joke before admitting that it was pig blood from butchering the pig with a chainsaw.
She smiled and murmured…”just like his fadder, my Roibhilín” and then patted my hands to get me to continue.
So I told her the rest, about the partying, and the aborted trip home…and then about my panic at the gunshots and the news that Robert had been shot. I told her about Grey having to wrestle Robert to the ground and both he and Rosie having to virtually lie on Robert to keep him on the ground when he was trying to go after the truck that carried the shooters off. Grey and Rosie both stiffened at the telling.
I looked up to see all of the family standing around behind their mother kneeling in front of me, but for Grey and Rosie on each side of me. I told her that Grey and Rosie had likely saved Robert’s life, just like they’d saved Barry before him. I told her that they’d have done their best to save David had he not been shot in the head. A dozen family members sucked in their breath at once.
I looked up to her face to see tears quietly rolling down her cheeks, and realized there was a wetness on my face too. She nodded and patted my hands again. Then I told her that I knew the license number of the truck.
Jaimie jumped like he’d been stuck with a pin. There was a rustle and a murmur from the family as a group, Grey and Rosie both turned stiffly towards me.
I wondered briefly if there was a possibility that I was breaking some “secret silence” rule but in the end, I knew that I had to tell the truth as I saw it.
Jaimie stood before me waiting, the family, collectively held its breath.
I recited the plate number and a sigh rippled through the people standing and sitting around me. Grey slipped an arm over my shoulder and Rosie dropped her head to my other shoulder.
Mrs. K smiled at me. She patted my hands one last time, took a deep breath and began to wail again as she rose to her feet. Family fluttered around her as Jaimie made his way to the phone.
She alternately barked questions and wailed like a banshee for the better part of 10 minutes before a nurse came into the waiting room to advise her she should “try to hold it down”.
The very suggestion raised Mrs. K’s volume and decibel level substantially…she tore a huge strip off of the nurse and then went back to her grief.
Jaimie the cop paced the floor and glared at his brothers and sisters balefully, stopping occasionally to pat his mother’s shoulder. Grey and Rosie look exactly like one would expect them to look had they been pierced balloons.
The clock seemed to be stuck on the 6 permanently and each waiting second seemed drawn out to take forever. By now there were upwards of a dozen family members collected and pacing and wailing along with their mother.
I watched the family dynamics take shape around the room, the “good” boys and girls clustered around their mother, speaking platitudes and nodding knowingly and derisively at the “black sheep” members of the family. The black sheep members all sat or stood leaning against walls arms crossed morosely…lips pressed firmly shut…mute.
Suddenly it “felt” as if the climate in the room had changed. I looked up to see Mrs. K standing before me, Grey and Rosie. She held a trembling hand out to me and said…”the girl will tell me the truth”.
Grey straightened up in his chair, and began to “now Mama” but she silenced him with a withering glance as she leaned forward to grasp my clammy hands in my lap.
Her fingers crushed my hands; I was amazed at the strength in this old woman…”the truth now girl” she said, “you owe me that”. So I hung my head down and stared at those fingers and told her the story of the arrival of the now disappeared friends, and the trip to the Silver Dollar. I went on to describe the shock of Robert and Snot swinging through the bar doors covered completely in blood and the ensuing joke before admitting that it was pig blood from butchering the pig with a chainsaw.
She smiled and murmured…”just like his fadder, my Roibhilín” and then patted my hands to get me to continue.
So I told her the rest, about the partying, and the aborted trip home…and then about my panic at the gunshots and the news that Robert had been shot. I told her about Grey having to wrestle Robert to the ground and both he and Rosie having to virtually lie on Robert to keep him on the ground when he was trying to go after the truck that carried the shooters off. Grey and Rosie both stiffened at the telling.
I looked up to see all of the family standing around behind their mother kneeling in front of me, but for Grey and Rosie on each side of me. I told her that Grey and Rosie had likely saved Robert’s life, just like they’d saved Barry before him. I told her that they’d have done their best to save David had he not been shot in the head. A dozen family members sucked in their breath at once.
I looked up to her face to see tears quietly rolling down her cheeks, and realized there was a wetness on my face too. She nodded and patted my hands again. Then I told her that I knew the license number of the truck.
Jaimie jumped like he’d been stuck with a pin. There was a rustle and a murmur from the family as a group, Grey and Rosie both turned stiffly towards me.
I wondered briefly if there was a possibility that I was breaking some “secret silence” rule but in the end, I knew that I had to tell the truth as I saw it.
Jaimie stood before me waiting, the family, collectively held its breath.
I recited the plate number and a sigh rippled through the people standing and sitting around me. Grey slipped an arm over my shoulder and Rosie dropped her head to my other shoulder.
Mrs. K smiled at me. She patted my hands one last time, took a deep breath and began to wail again as she rose to her feet. Family fluttered around her as Jaimie made his way to the phone.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Chapter 72
note from Wyz: it's been a little over 2 weeks since I wrote and posted a chapter...and as often happens when there's a break, my writing syntax changes....but I am under the strictest of orders from some friends to "get er done!"
So here tis....I suppose you've all had just about enough music in the interlude to do you till I get back in the swing of things...
Five hours later we were back at the hospital. Every time it seemed that life couldn’t get any worse…it did just that.
I sat on a bench between Grey and Barry this time, waiting to find out if Robert would live through the night.
We’d partied at the Silver dollar for quite a while…till it’d got to the stage where Roberts dungarees had dried and would have stood up in the corner by themselves they were so stiff. I was a little fascinated by the fact that he didn’t seem to be in the least bit uncomfortable about it.
We’d left the Dollar en masse and headed for the farm, for once, everyone was riding.
I found out later that it seemed that there was a club on the Iron Range that took a particular exception with Robert and his band of merry riders. As we’d left the bar that night we’d been followed by a beat up old pick up truck…not one of us had noticed.
As we rode through the city to head out the opposite side and back to the farm there were probably 30 motorcycles with at least 50 people all told. There was a lot of laughing and antics going on between the bikes as we rode through town. People riding side by side, passing joints and wine skins and bottles…women blowing kiss’ or climbing around to ride in front of their men,facing them, wrapped around them, guys poppin wheelies, screaming past the group in the opposite lane….it was just the most relaxed I’d been since I’d arrived in the Twin Cities.
At an intersection in the warehouse district the truck pulled up beside Robert who was pretty close to the head of the group and riding beside Scruvy D. The driver of the truck rolled his window down and words were exchanged between Robert, Scurvy and the fellow driving and his passenger.
Scruvy and Robert both got off their bikes, dropping them to start towards the truck.(which was the moment that all the rest of us cottoned on to the fact that something serious was happening here…)
At that point I had visions of Robert pulling someone out of the cab of the truck and dusting the pavement with him…kinda like he’d done with those cops.
Shots rang out and we all hit the pavement.
Rosie and I scurried/crab walked to the curb and hid behind a huge metal bin that was on the sidewalk…people were yelling and I heard more shots and then lots of yelling.
The truck pealed out leaving Robert standing in the road holding one of the passengers by the throat. Some of the boys ran to him to get him to let the guy go before he stopped twitching. It wasn’t till they got up close that they realized both Robert and Scurvy had been shot.
We couldn’t really make out how bad either of them were because of the gallons of dried pig’s blood that covered them from the “chainsaw massacre” of the pig earlier.
The end result was that Scurvy was DOA and Robert had not one, not 2 but 4 - 45 shells buried in his great big gut. How he was still breathing was beyond me. We’d had to wait for an ambulance, in spite of his protestations that he’d ride himself to the hospital, and then I’d had to ride in the bus with him or he wouldn’t stay inside.
He’d shut his eyes just as we’d been pulling up to emergency and I was pushed out of the way and the Dr’s and nurses began their well executed ballet to save his life.
So there we sat again, in the waiting room at the hospital, waiting to find out if another one of the brothers would live. The difference this time was that I’d called Mrs. K. I hadn’t told anyone…but I’d got it into my head that she had a right to know.
I looked up as the doors whooshed open in time to see Mrs. K and Jaimie the police officer son, and 2 more men and a woman that all looked like Kirkpatrick stock swooping through the door. I looked to Grey as the oldest and he looked tired and truly did look grey.
Rosie muttered, “fuck…how’d she find out so fast?”
“I called her” I said.
“Jesus baby!” was as far as Rosie got before her mother was upon us.
All my life I’d heard stories of wailing and gnashing of teeth of women who’d lost their children to death. My father’s family business was funeral directing and I’d seen and heard more than my fair share as a child in my grandfather’s office.
Nothing in my previous life prepared me for the fury of Mrs. K. Scurvy D, had been her son “Daithi” (David) and she was broken hearted at the loss of her boyo.
So here tis....I suppose you've all had just about enough music in the interlude to do you till I get back in the swing of things...
Five hours later we were back at the hospital. Every time it seemed that life couldn’t get any worse…it did just that.
I sat on a bench between Grey and Barry this time, waiting to find out if Robert would live through the night.
We’d partied at the Silver dollar for quite a while…till it’d got to the stage where Roberts dungarees had dried and would have stood up in the corner by themselves they were so stiff. I was a little fascinated by the fact that he didn’t seem to be in the least bit uncomfortable about it.
We’d left the Dollar en masse and headed for the farm, for once, everyone was riding.
I found out later that it seemed that there was a club on the Iron Range that took a particular exception with Robert and his band of merry riders. As we’d left the bar that night we’d been followed by a beat up old pick up truck…not one of us had noticed.
As we rode through the city to head out the opposite side and back to the farm there were probably 30 motorcycles with at least 50 people all told. There was a lot of laughing and antics going on between the bikes as we rode through town. People riding side by side, passing joints and wine skins and bottles…women blowing kiss’ or climbing around to ride in front of their men,facing them, wrapped around them, guys poppin wheelies, screaming past the group in the opposite lane….it was just the most relaxed I’d been since I’d arrived in the Twin Cities.
At an intersection in the warehouse district the truck pulled up beside Robert who was pretty close to the head of the group and riding beside Scruvy D. The driver of the truck rolled his window down and words were exchanged between Robert, Scurvy and the fellow driving and his passenger.
Scruvy and Robert both got off their bikes, dropping them to start towards the truck.(which was the moment that all the rest of us cottoned on to the fact that something serious was happening here…)
At that point I had visions of Robert pulling someone out of the cab of the truck and dusting the pavement with him…kinda like he’d done with those cops.
Shots rang out and we all hit the pavement.
Rosie and I scurried/crab walked to the curb and hid behind a huge metal bin that was on the sidewalk…people were yelling and I heard more shots and then lots of yelling.
The truck pealed out leaving Robert standing in the road holding one of the passengers by the throat. Some of the boys ran to him to get him to let the guy go before he stopped twitching. It wasn’t till they got up close that they realized both Robert and Scurvy had been shot.
We couldn’t really make out how bad either of them were because of the gallons of dried pig’s blood that covered them from the “chainsaw massacre” of the pig earlier.
The end result was that Scurvy was DOA and Robert had not one, not 2 but 4 - 45 shells buried in his great big gut. How he was still breathing was beyond me. We’d had to wait for an ambulance, in spite of his protestations that he’d ride himself to the hospital, and then I’d had to ride in the bus with him or he wouldn’t stay inside.
He’d shut his eyes just as we’d been pulling up to emergency and I was pushed out of the way and the Dr’s and nurses began their well executed ballet to save his life.
So there we sat again, in the waiting room at the hospital, waiting to find out if another one of the brothers would live. The difference this time was that I’d called Mrs. K. I hadn’t told anyone…but I’d got it into my head that she had a right to know.
I looked up as the doors whooshed open in time to see Mrs. K and Jaimie the police officer son, and 2 more men and a woman that all looked like Kirkpatrick stock swooping through the door. I looked to Grey as the oldest and he looked tired and truly did look grey.
Rosie muttered, “fuck…how’d she find out so fast?”
“I called her” I said.
“Jesus baby!” was as far as Rosie got before her mother was upon us.
All my life I’d heard stories of wailing and gnashing of teeth of women who’d lost their children to death. My father’s family business was funeral directing and I’d seen and heard more than my fair share as a child in my grandfather’s office.
Nothing in my previous life prepared me for the fury of Mrs. K. Scurvy D, had been her son “Daithi” (David) and she was broken hearted at the loss of her boyo.
Changes....
I feel unhappy
I feel so sad
I lost the best friend
That I ever had
She was my woman
I loved her so
But it's too late now
I've let her go
I'm going through changes
I'm going through changes
We shared the eve's
We shared each day
In love together
We found a way
But soon the world
Had its evil way
My heart was blinded
Love went astray
I'm going through changes
I'm going through changes
It took so long
To realize
That I can still hear
Her last goodbyes
Now all my days
Are filled with tears
Wish I could go back
And change these years
I'm going through changes
I'm going through changes
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Beth Hart - Learning to Live
I keep my head on straight, and my eyes wide open. I try to move forward wishing and hoping. I took a hold of myself in the middle of November. Don’t you look back now, it’s all I can remember. I feel like I’m leaving, like I’m leaving home, like there’s crowds about and I’m not alone. I’m learning to live, living to learn. I’m starting to sing my song, right or wrong. Breaking away, setting me free; freedom in my own me, I’m learning to live. I’ve got my vanity crisis from my beautiful mother. I’m not gonna go there, I’m anything other. Take another deep breath now, it’s just one more hurdle. I’m breaking this line before it comes full circle. I feel like I’m leaving, like I’m leaving home. Like there’s crowds about and I’m not alone. I’m learning to live, living to learn. I’m starting to sing my song, right or wrong. Breaking away, setting me free;Freedom in my own me. I found a place where I can lay my shit down. Somewhere that I can finally be myself, be myself. I’m learning to live, living to learn. Starting to sing my song, right or wrong. Breaking away Setting me free;
Saturday, June 14, 2008
of elephants, ownership and decisions
Some might say that some of my biggest mistakes in life have been directed by “others”. Had my family been less a mess, had the people I chose as friends been less manipulative, had my teachers been supportive…had my counselors been attentive….etc etc…
I don’t believe that.
I believe that I own everything that’s happened to me. I made choices…I moved on, sometimes kicking and screaming…but I moved on.
In retrospect I can look at the things I’ve done and that have been “done” to me from a position of ownership. I can clearly and without reservation state that I fucked up sometimes and I’m lucky it didn’t kill me.
Because I own it…
I believe that when you make a mistake you take ownership of it, and in doing so you are more than half way finished with it and can then rebuild your credibility.
I believe that the largest deterrent to taking ownership of my mistakes is my inability to swallow my lion’s sized pride…but once I do so I can overcome just about any error in my life.
One single “OMG I fucked up” goes a long long way towards forgiveness and moving on. Acknowledgement and compassion.
Not pointing the finger at others, not trying to sweep a mistake under the carpet and not blaming others…that’s how to fix a mistake.
Because in the end…the truth will always come back and bite you in the ass.
So….Thirty four years ago I made an adult decision.
I was at the time, lost on more levels than I can begin to describe. I’d lost my soul mate, and virtually everything we’d built together….and I was pregnant.
I had a daughter, and I gave her up for adoption.
I never saw her and my thoughts of her (almost daily over the years) were of the hopes and dreams I had for her to have a good life, a productive life, a happy life with a real family.
I did not absolve myself of the guilt of giving her up…because there was no guilt relating to having made the right decision.
Over the years I have examined that decision in its minutia and I still, today, feel as resolved as I began to that correctness. If anything I am even more so now than I was that day 34 years ago.
I also vowed very early on that I would not go looking for her because I wasn’t gonna be one o them waste o skin and oxygen types you see on Jerry Springer all the time.
Right this moment I think I "know" where my daughter is. Finding her was not a decision I made. It was inadvertently made for me by someone who professes to love me.
I’ve spent the last several days thoroughly examining my feelings around this event (and I’ve spent some serious time with my therapist – ya I’ve got one…it’s been nobody’s business to know)
I know that I still feel right around my decision to not be in contact with my daughter. That may yet change, but for today, I’m leaving things as they are. And no amount of condescension or patronization is going to make me change my mind…as long as I still feel that it’s the right decision.
My biggest problem right now is not even my problem really.
My biggest problem is to decide how and what I am going to do with the breach of trust and personal boundaries by one who tells me that she loves me as a sister.
How do I get back to a position of trust with someone who is so busy telling me that she did no wrong when I tell her that she’s inadvertently dealt me this blow? Because make no mistake...there was a blow and in rocked my world...whether she meant to or not.
If she had just said…”I fucked up and I’m sorry” this too would pass.
But instead I’m treated, at a time when my world has been rocked to the very core, by diatribes about how I don’t know her, and she’s not at fault, and I’m wrong…
Yes I got an apology of sorts…one of those “I’m sorry you hurt yourself on what I did”. It wasn’t about owning up, and accepting responsibility. It was about absolving herself of any wrongdoing, real or imagined.
That doesn’t currently work for me…it may never work for me.
Contrary to popular belief, I don’t need people to be right with myself. Turns out I’m alright by myself.
It also it turns out that she is right in that I “don’t know her at all”. Because the person I believed I knew would walk through glass for me as I her….that person would want to spend her breath supporting me and being my friend holding my hand during one of the most emotional times of my adult life…not defending herself…that person believed in sisterhood.
...and no....I ain't gonna tell you who it is...so don't ask!
Friday, June 13, 2008
I'm outta my mind
"Out Of My Mind"
Judging by the look on the organ-grinder,
He'll judge me by the fact that my face don't fit.
It's touching that the monkey sits on my shoulder.
He's waiting for the day when he gets me,
But I don't need no alibi - I'm a puppet on a string.
I just need this stage to be seen.
We all need a pantomime to remind us what is real.
Hold my eye and know what it means.
I'm out of my mind.
Judging by the look on the organ-grinder,
He'll judge me by the fact that my face don't fit.
It's touching that the monkey sits on my shoulder.
He's waiting for the day when he gets me,
But I won't be your concubine - I'm a puppet not a whore.
I just need this stage to be seen.
Will you be a friend of mine to remind me what is real?
Hold my heart and see that it bleeds.
I'm out of my mind
Judging by the look on the organ-grinder,
He'll judge me by the fact that my face don't fit.
It's touching that the monkey sits on my shoulder.
He's waiting for the day when he gets me,
But I don't need no alibi - I'm a puppet on a string.
I just need this stage to be seen.
We all need a pantomime to remind us what is real.
Hold my eye and know what it means.
I'm out of my mind.
Judging by the look on the organ-grinder,
He'll judge me by the fact that my face don't fit.
It's touching that the monkey sits on my shoulder.
He's waiting for the day when he gets me,
But I won't be your concubine - I'm a puppet not a whore.
I just need this stage to be seen.
Will you be a friend of mine to remind me what is real?
Hold my heart and see that it bleeds.
I'm out of my mind
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Do not mistake my quiet
or lack of response
for acquiescence
Do not mistake my sadness
for weakness
or lack of knowing myself.
You read my posts
with your eyes
and your heart
You see my words
As they mirror you
You hear
in my story
Your story
There is sameness
But we are not the same
My immediate response
Is one of anger
But I know that is because
You’ve hurt me
I find it hard to reconcile hurt
It always brings me to anger
And my anger often becomes violence
Many times I have told you
That I am not ready
That I can not yet do
what you have done
Many times you’ve offered
And many times I’ve said no
And still you persist
Your dream
Is not my dream
In the end
All you’ve done is hurt me...
In the light of day
I know you didn’t mean to
But you did.
And now I must find a way
to deal with the elephant
in the room
Please stop.
or lack of response
for acquiescence
Do not mistake my sadness
for weakness
or lack of knowing myself.
You read my posts
with your eyes
and your heart
You see my words
As they mirror you
You hear
in my story
Your story
There is sameness
But we are not the same
My immediate response
Is one of anger
But I know that is because
You’ve hurt me
I find it hard to reconcile hurt
It always brings me to anger
And my anger often becomes violence
Many times I have told you
That I am not ready
That I can not yet do
what you have done
Many times you’ve offered
And many times I’ve said no
And still you persist
Your dream
Is not my dream
In the end
All you’ve done is hurt me...
In the light of day
I know you didn’t mean to
But you did.
And now I must find a way
to deal with the elephant
in the room
Please stop.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
What if...
I seem to spend
a great deal of my life
trying....
working
so very hard
to remain
positive....
but sometimes
life just beats ya down
with it's
sheer
lack o fairness
it truly
makes ya wonder
I wonder
'what if?'
I wonder often
what if
my Michael
hadn't died?
where would my life be now?
what would it look like?
would we be married?
would I have children?
would there be a little house?
would I still have the bar?
would I be this lonely?
would I still feel like the
other half of my soul
was missing?
what if?
a great deal of my life
trying....
working
so very hard
to remain
positive....
but sometimes
life just beats ya down
with it's
sheer
lack o fairness
it truly
makes ya wonder
I wonder
'what if?'
I wonder often
what if
my Michael
hadn't died?
where would my life be now?
what would it look like?
would we be married?
would I have children?
would there be a little house?
would I still have the bar?
would I be this lonely?
would I still feel like the
other half of my soul
was missing?
what if?
Goin With The Flo!
I'm so proud of this woman I could just bust!
Here's a story about a female Canadian rider from Courtenay BC named FLo...been riding 4 years -
Flo was in Mexico this winter and saw a picture of an mc for sale in FL - by Gerry and Donna Pallidino of "Ride Like a Pro" fame...whom she met via a Delphi forum called "Women Who Ride"
Flo bought the bike, and in spite of some adversity, rode it home over 3 weeks arriving in Coutenay to snow like temps and torrential rainforest rain yesterday...
I'm so proud of this woman...she faced all her fears and completed the ride of a lifetime...with the help of some new friends....
Check out her blog "Going with the Flo!" or her forum "Vancouver Island Lady Riders"
Brava! Flo....Brava!
Thursday, June 05, 2008
I have a question.....
here's a thing
I don't get
I currently know
7 people
that are publishing
or have published
books
not one of them
write under
their own name
every one of them
uses a pseudonym
why?
I don't get it ....
why not write
under your own name?
is it cos yer afraid the neighbours
might find out?
is it cos you don't think yer own
name is "romantic" enough?
or cos yer afraid of the
paparazzi?
or is it that you've done something
in your past that you are ashamed of?
are you in witness protection?
hiding from the bank?
an ex husband?
some of these people
are already operating under nicknames
(I am too...but everyone knows
my name is Karen Brown - it says so
on my birth certificate)
seriously....
why not use yer own name?
color me
puzzled
I don't get
I currently know
7 people
that are publishing
or have published
books
not one of them
write under
their own name
every one of them
uses a pseudonym
why?
I don't get it ....
why not write
under your own name?
is it cos yer afraid the neighbours
might find out?
is it cos you don't think yer own
name is "romantic" enough?
or cos yer afraid of the
paparazzi?
or is it that you've done something
in your past that you are ashamed of?
are you in witness protection?
hiding from the bank?
an ex husband?
some of these people
are already operating under nicknames
(I am too...but everyone knows
my name is Karen Brown - it says so
on my birth certificate)
seriously....
why not use yer own name?
color me
puzzled
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Chapter 71
the sound: Joe Cocker – Help from my Friends, The Beatles – Strawberry Fields Forever, The Beatles – Hey Jude, Richie Havens – Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child, Santana – Soul Sacrifice, Janis Joplin – Try, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young – Judy Blue Eyes, Canned Heat – Woodstock Boogie, Ten Years After – Going Home
Robert and Snot were both wearing bib coveralls. Both were wearing short sleeved t-shirts and riding boots. Both had beards and both had hair that was at least mid back in length…and of course both of them were well over 6 foot tall.
Their hair was all over the place…looked like they’d ridden a while – that “rode hard and put away wet” thing….and both of them looked like they’d been involved in some sort of blood bath.
There literally was not one area the size of my thumbprint that I could see on either of them that was not covered in blood. It was drying and tacky and they both even had it under their arms…I couldn’t imagine the kind of picture the two of them had made riding up the road from the farm to the bar.
I sort of laughed uncomfortably thinking that perhaps they’d had a paint fight while painting the barn…but I knew I was grasping at straws because I knew that paint had not been in the plans for the day.
I found that I expected the worse…but thought that perhaps the saving grace could be that both Robert and Snot were smiling…smiling hugely I might add. Then again, I quickly thought that maybe I’d relaxed too soon…cos really – these guys are nuts.
All manner of horror ran thought my mind in a heartbeat and my eyes darted around looking for some kind of an escape route for the first time in several days.
One of the European guests approached Robert. He was a big blonde fellow called (surprisingly enough) Swede.
Swede asked “vat da fuk happen to you?”
Robert started to laugh…”this, my friend, is what happens when you fuck with my club. This is what happens when people fuck with my family. I take care of business and then there is no problem no more.”
He paused “Get it?”
Swede looked puzzled.
“People fuck with me and mine and I fuck them right back – big big time!” Robert said.
“who fuk vid you?” Swede asked and I saw beneath that jolly blonde surface a kind of nastiness I’d not seen before.
“Wellllll ya know?....” he began….and then Robert began to laugh.
“Naw…I cannot tell a lie….” he continued with a twinkle in his eye…”this is what happens ……….when ya butcher a pig with a chain saw!” he finished in a hurry.
I slumped into my chair as everyone in the room started to laugh and cheer.
Robert and Snot were both wearing bib coveralls. Both were wearing short sleeved t-shirts and riding boots. Both had beards and both had hair that was at least mid back in length…and of course both of them were well over 6 foot tall.
Their hair was all over the place…looked like they’d ridden a while – that “rode hard and put away wet” thing….and both of them looked like they’d been involved in some sort of blood bath.
There literally was not one area the size of my thumbprint that I could see on either of them that was not covered in blood. It was drying and tacky and they both even had it under their arms…I couldn’t imagine the kind of picture the two of them had made riding up the road from the farm to the bar.
I sort of laughed uncomfortably thinking that perhaps they’d had a paint fight while painting the barn…but I knew I was grasping at straws because I knew that paint had not been in the plans for the day.
I found that I expected the worse…but thought that perhaps the saving grace could be that both Robert and Snot were smiling…smiling hugely I might add. Then again, I quickly thought that maybe I’d relaxed too soon…cos really – these guys are nuts.
All manner of horror ran thought my mind in a heartbeat and my eyes darted around looking for some kind of an escape route for the first time in several days.
One of the European guests approached Robert. He was a big blonde fellow called (surprisingly enough) Swede.
Swede asked “vat da fuk happen to you?”
Robert started to laugh…”this, my friend, is what happens when you fuck with my club. This is what happens when people fuck with my family. I take care of business and then there is no problem no more.”
He paused “Get it?”
Swede looked puzzled.
“People fuck with me and mine and I fuck them right back – big big time!” Robert said.
“who fuk vid you?” Swede asked and I saw beneath that jolly blonde surface a kind of nastiness I’d not seen before.
“Wellllll ya know?....” he began….and then Robert began to laugh.
“Naw…I cannot tell a lie….” he continued with a twinkle in his eye…”this is what happens ……….when ya butcher a pig with a chain saw!” he finished in a hurry.
I slumped into my chair as everyone in the room started to laugh and cheer.
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