Life

Tattoos

SFoxWriting’s Alphabet Challenge ~ “T”

I am a tattoo fan, a big fan. I got my first tattoo during a visit to Hawaii, on the island of Oahu, when I was 22. My second followed soon after during a subsequent trip to Hawaii, on the island of Maui. It didn’t take me long to want a third, which I got in Chicago. After that I took a good hiatus and didn’t get my fourth until just a few years ago. I actually had that done close to home at Love Tattoo. I do have plans for six more, so I suppose I should pick up the pace on new tattoos if I want to complete the list.

The featured image is my husband’s ambigram tattoo. Looked at from one angle it reads “Live”, from another it says “Life”. I love it. It conveys a simple, yet crucial message. I have plans to share pictures of some of my tattoos in a future post, so none of me this time.

I leave you with a poem about tattoos in tyburn form:

Painting
Lasting
Staining
Speaking
Needle on flesh, painting lasting dreams
Expressive skin staining, speaking reams

Sons

SFoxWriting’s Alphabet Challenge ~ “S”

This challenge has given me the unique opportunity to introduce everyone to my awesome family. Today I focus all of my attention on my sons, my oldest child, Steven and my youngest, Brandon. The age difference between my boys is nearly 10 years, still they are close. Brandon stays over at Steven’s apartment. They eat pizza and play video and board games like brothers should. I see a lot of Steven in Brandon. The featured image is evidence of that. Those pictures were taken years apart in completely different states. They have the same freckles, the same eyes, the same mannerisms, the same sense of humor. However, for all of their similarities, they have just as many differences.

Steven is extremely driven. He is a biopsychology major in his 3rd year of college. His focus is cognitive psychology and he hopes to obtain a PhD. Steven receives scholarship money and keeps a job as a barista to pay most of his college expenses. He is also a captain on his school’s Ultimate team. He loves music. I lost count of how many instruments he can play. Despite his busy schedule, Steven is well balanced. He has many friends and enjoys the full college experience. Perhaps most importantly, he is an incredible big brother.

Brandon is the most laid back individual I have ever known. He is quiet, a little shy, very sweet, and loves a good lazy Sunday. His technology skills are impressive for a kid his age. At 2 years old he would belly up to the computer, manipulate the mouse, get on the internet, find the right bookmark, and navigate to his favorite game, completely unassisted. Brandon loves to help in the kitchen. It’s the only thing he likes more than screen time. He has taken several cooking classes at a local bistro.

Brothers
Two boys so alike
The reflection in their eyes
Echos of one another

Two boys bound by blood
Distinctive aspirations
Minds and spirits all their own

Raw & Real

SFoxWriting’s Alphabet Challenge ~ “R”

First and foremost, Happy International Day of Poetry! Also, happy 96th birthday to my Minga! She is my paternal grandmother. I couldn’t say “Grandma” when I was little; it came out “Minga”. My kids and I still call her that to this day. She is a remarkable woman.

While there is much to celebrate, it is bittersweet. Today is also the anniversary of my maternal grandfather’s passing. He was younger than my mother is now when he left this world. It was a life-changing event for many.

Days like today are exactly why I write. I’m jubilant. I want to celebrate. Not everyone my age still has a living grandmother. I have two, both of whom celebrate birthdays this month. They bring great happiness into this world. I am so fortunate. At the same time, I’m melancholy and filled with regret. While I have my grandmas, I don’t have my grandpas. I wasn’t as close to my maternal grandfather as I should have been. There are all sorts of reasons why, none of which are important to me now. I should have known him better. I should have visited more. Conversely, I was very close to my paternal grandfather. He was a character larger than life. He too would also have celebrated a birthday this month. My eyes well with tears as I type. I miss them both. Words, be they stories or poetry or simple ramblings, are therapeutic. It’s an incredible mechanism for dealing with such extreme conflicts of emotion.

On the day my grandfather passed 25 years ago, the words that helped me cope came in the form of poetry:
Dear Grandpa,
Just where do I start?
There are so many
Things in my heart.

I loved you so much,
I now miss you the same.
You had a special touch.
When I needed it, you came.

Why did I wait ‘til now –
Until it was too late,
To tell you how I feel,
To say “Grandpa, you’re great!”?

I am so sorry!
It just isn’t fair.
There was no warning
No time to tell you “I care”.

Everyone tells me,
“Be strong for your Mom”,
But who’s being strong for me
Now that you’re gone?

I loved you too.
I know I wasn’t the greatest,
But the words I say are true.

Grandpa, I miss you,
And I will always, always love you.

I know, it’s not exactly a masterpiece painted of words. However, it’s raw. It’s real. It’s a 15 year old kid figuring out how to deal with death for the first time. It’s something I last read years ago. It stirs up some powerful stuff even after all of this time. Mom, I’m sorry. I know this post will be tough for you.

On an unrelated note, but while I’m being real, there is one more quick thing… Yesterday I blogged my 50th post. It was a thrilling milestone. I don’t know if it was my excitement, if I rushed, if I was careless or lazy or what, but after my post had been published for several hours, I found a typo. I was mortified. Immediately I scrambled to correct it, but could only think of those who had already seen it. It gets better. Several more hours passed before another typo was brought to my attention – complete, total, utter humiliation (combined with extreme gratitude for the friend who pointed it out so I could fix it). I realize that everybody who read yesterday’s post, my 50th no less, saw my errors. I couldn’t just let that go. I had to say something. My readers, I apologize. I am sincerely sorry.

“You might not write well every day, but you can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page.” ~Jodi Picoult

Page Poetry

My second Alphabet Challenge inspired “P” post today! Granted Page Poetry is going to pale in comparison to Poe Poetry. However, given that my last name begins with the letter “P” and I write poetry, I couldn’t let Poe have all of the fun. Here are 4 short, individual pieces of Page Prose & Poetry:

Tell me that it is not
a figment of my imagination,
that it is more
than a fantasy.
If you cannot,
don’t wake me.
I rather like this dream.

**********

I long to be real.
I ache to be seen.
I wish to be more
Than trapped in your dream.

**********

Flicker of candlelight
In lovers eyes,
Glow of moonlight
On midnight skies,
Echo of starlight
On a placid sea,
You are the light
That illuminates me.

**********

A flower blooms.
A child cries.
A life is born
As an old man dies.
Life’s not given,
It is a loan.
It’s time we use
But never own.

If you missed my first “P” post from today, I featured my favorite poet/writer, Edgar Allan Poe. Check it out!

Poe Poetry

SFoxWriting’s Alphabet Challenge ~ “P”

Poetry is my muse and Poe is my favorite poet. Edgar Allan Poe’s life story is not an uplifting one. He suffered great losses that took their toll upon him as a man. Those same losses are also likely why his works are such compelling reads.

10 Facts:
l. Born Edgar Poe, “Allan” was not added until Poe was orphaned at age 2 and sent to live with John & Frances Allan.
2. He was the first known writer in the U.S. to earn a living by writing alone. As most writers can relate, this left him financially insecure.
3. Poe was a raging alcoholic. So was his older brother.
4. He married his 13 year old first cousin when he was 26 years old.
5. Poe accused Henry Wadsworth Longfellow of plagiarism.
6. “The Raven” made Poe a household name almost instantly. He was paid $9 for its publication.
7. Poe was best known for his fictional works in the Gothic genre. He also wrote satire, hoaxes, detective stories, and reinvented science fiction.
8. Both Poe’s mother and Poe’s wife died of consumption (tuberculosis).
9. Edgar Allan Poe died at age 40 under mysterious circumstances. His death certificate was lost.
10. Poe’s obituary began “Edgar Allan Poe is dead. He died in Baltimore the day before yesterday. This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by it.”

Two Poems:

A Dream Within A Dream
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

The Lake
In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less-
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.

But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody-
Then- ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremulous delight-
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define-
Nor Love- although the Love were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining-
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.