to: maybe i think too much

was just thinking that "maybe i think too much" and came across your blog. loved it. but indeed it is true that so much thinking brings about negative thoughts. can you ever really start thinking about one thing--idea, person, place--and only see blue skies? just finished reading an amazing jeffery deaver short story entitled "triangle," that literally knocked my socks off. one thought from the narrator of the story-- lately he'd been thinking a lot of things and not saying them . . . (perhaps you've been hooked on the story?)

other poets, writers on the phrase or idea of too much thinking?

thanks for a fun blog, sir, and have a wonderful day.

not in THIS lifetime

it's a pretty fair life, but when a small bump gets you off track, just remember--there's a chance that in reincarnation you'll have just what you're aching for.

or not. quite the joke isn't it?

make the most of where you are and what you have.

belief

fine line between belief and disbelief

how can there be a god when

loved ones die

catastrophic events occur every day

the list of "when" goes on and on.

the multitude of conflicts in any recognized religion

is beyond belief.

wars begat religion

and religions begat religion

hmm. MAGO in Sedona.

a religion? a resort? wtf?

when a favorite aunt was diagnosed with cancer,

she was young. so was i.

she believed that god was good and was looking

out for her. she died in three months.

ditto my father--the short period of illness

full of pain and misery.

didn't hear him beg for god's mercy

or proclaim a "better place."

but in the throes of agony

(catchy phrase, isn't it?)

i find myself begging for mercy,

god's mercy.

that child didn't deserve to die

or suffer

PLEASE do not let this happen

or that happen.

I don't want it to make me strong

or strengthen my faith or lack thereof

just make the bad go away

the end, again and again, amen

five months.

or perhaps five decades.

what a long, strange trip it's been.

I

certainly

did

not

expect

the remorse i've seen.

oh my gosh. i would crawl. every long

dark mile, all the way home.

home?

we are nothing

if not dramatic

Writing on Demand is Never Easy

Writing on demand is not easy. Have you tried it?

Five hundred words a day or more is the requirement. All well and good when:
You have something to say
There are no interruptions
The phone is unplugged
Someone fed the dogs
There are no solicitors on your block
There is plenty of coffee
It is a gloomy day (although a little rain always is distracting to me here in Arizona)
You already finished reading the great book you started a couple days earlier
You are locked in your writing space
Your mind is hell-bent to complete the task at hand

Uh, how many words so far today, anyway?

Hmm, now do I just sit and ponder (x that out, use think), or start putting words on paper, hoping that some sense will come of it all? Back in the day, when I encouraged a class of students to “write,” I suggested they put down whatever came to mind, just to help them get started. But it doesn’t seem to be working for me.

I could discuss in some detail the disappointment that a friend passing through town won’t stay at my house, for fear of “displeasuring” me with his nocturnal habits. He says that at his age, he needs his thrice-nightly visit to the can, and a light on or off periodically during the night to read or reassess life, and/or a midnight or 2 a.m. smoke or two, or perhaps a shot of tequila. He’s afraid he’ll disturb the pooches as he slides through the door to the patio to indulge.

My arguments include the fact that his “suite” (always sound better than when you say “guest room”—I don’t have guests, only friends) is on the other side of the house. There is a separate bath. My dogs are old and don’t hear anything, so he wouldn’t disturb them. MY husband and I are fitful sleepers and potty-goers, too, but we have our own bath. Plus, we don’t hear so good either . . .

And I don’t want to plan things. If he’s here, we’ll just do them.

Ah. Well. We’ll see.

I believe there is a bit of “displeasuring” himself in all this, too. Twice a week I take care of (although better words than “take care of” might be adore or honor or idolize, as I can’t seem to get enough of my two grandsons) my boys. My is without children of his own, and has had his share of proverbial nieces and nephews, and perhaps can’t appreciate my maternal instincts.

Just let me show him!

of course i drink

Of course I drink. Kowtowing to everyone is all that it takes to remind me that after 6 p.m., it is time for my nightly shot or two of bourbon. I rarely talk serious matter to anyone in my circle of acquaintances [don’t they all have serious issues of their own and don’t want to be bothered , or perhaps they pretend to listen, nodding at the appropriate times], so it is only in the unwinding process of the day that I can reflect on life and all its complexities.

Don’t get me wrong. I do not ever drink—really, ever—when I have responsibilities. You know what they are, the family and friends who matter more than the drink.

Last night my routine was different; actually, it often is, as I reach this way and that for new adventures. We went out for Mexican food, so I had a margarita. Then we went to the theatre, and afterwards I had a glass of red wine.

Should I worry? My mom used to say that one thing my brothers and I had in common was the fact that we liked a drink. None of us, to my knowledge, has ever been falling-down drunk.

Wait. There was that time when I totally blanked out, and maybe the fire department came and put out the fire. I was in the backyard, commiserating with myself about the unfairness of life (there truly were extenuating circumstances, believe me), when I torched an old dirty area rug. It smoked and smoldered before breaking out in house-high flames.

So maybe the fire department came, or maybe not, I don’t remember. I never got a ticket for endangering the community, and my neighbors have never brought it up. Maybe it was a dream, a nightmare. Or to quote a line from an Uncle Tupelo song, "all my daydreams, disasters"?

I can say, however, that since that day I have never lost consciousness, or had a total blackout.

Perhaps Louise Erdrich (author extraordinaire) to the rescue again? “Crown of Thorns,” 1981, really knocked my socks off. Try reading it if you’ve ever thought you might have a little problem. The intensity of these words slammed in my face.

A mind is a terrible thing to lose

I am ashamed to admit that I thought twice before answering the phone. It was my dear aunt, who doesn’t remember a lick of who’s who and what’s what, and yet we try to communicate.

Tonight she called, “I had quite a time finding your number,” she said. I know. Before my mom, her sister, died, they called each other nearly daily across a span of 1500 miles, and usually wound up re-writing each other’s phone numbers. “I just want to be sure I can find it when I need to call you again.”

She doesn't know who she called, who she is talking to, but I play along. "It's very nice here in Phoenix. The boys are fine, and the grandchildren are growing so fast."

Her husband died of a heart attack 30 years ago, and her only child a couple of decades ago. Her two grandchildren are around, as is her wonderful son-in-law, but that doesn’t mean much today, because her facilities just aren’t up to snuff. It is so painful for me.

She played such an important role in my life. She had grace and elegance, and showered her kin with love and goodies. She grew up poor, but worked oh so hard to overcome. She headed the Headstart Program in Minnesota, and was recognized in the finest circles in town.

When I was a new bride, poor, she took me and the groom to the finest spots and showed us how it was to be regal. She loved my children, and sent them glorious gifts from her travels abroad.

Today, she is still lovely. At 90, her beauty and poise are there. But her mind is fragmented. I ache.

And I know she’s still in there, and she’s trying to get out and remind us how special she was, and why we shouldn’t forget her, and that’s why I’m ashamed of myself.

For I too shall go this path, as will you, and you, and you . . .