A Moment of Serenity

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Sitting here in an early June quiet. The days have finally grown into a full warmth. This late spring surge of sun has distracted me from my writing. We cut grass, plant flowers that will last well into early fall, lay down mulch. Fret over carpenter bees boring holes in the upper eaves at the back of the house (I need a 25 foot ladder to reach them). Douse the paper wasp nest with chemicals before it outgrows the strength of  our spray can.  Stain the long neglected front porch a luscious mahogany red while noticing that we need new risers. The rails need a fresh coat of white. The north side of the house looks tired. Long winters and years of just plain wear are evident at this direction of the house’s compass.  I try not to worry about the expense of repairs and send out intentions of abundance to the universe.

A year from now, this house will be my sons’ domain. Rented with others in order to afford payments. We are shifting gears. Learning to be present in a major life transition. Sharing in the pulls and tugs of the here and now as we move into the there and then. Keeping our eyes wide open while we let go of the old life little by little. We are all making our way into an independent dynamic. There is much to do before my wings take flight.  I send out more intentions-ones where I hope to avoid the vortex of panic and anxiety. A friend says “Don’t be afraid to pray for big things.”  So I do.

For now, I am staying in this moment. Sitting up in bed, nearly ready for sleep. The house is empty except for me. The crickets are back and the night breeze is full. Cool and cleansing, sort of a northern climate mini spa in my mind.  I look forward to refreshing dreams and a new morning sun.

 “Listen to yourself. And in that quietude you will hear the voice of God”

– Maya Angelou

 

The Man in the Suit

 

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Dreaming

A premonition in my bones

Knowing our paths would cross

The hundred pounds of nails was removed today

Each purge of your physical reminders lessens the load

Creates space

 Soon to be crushed in some forsaken landscape

Buried in parts unknown

Or incinerated

Mere smoke filtered first before billowing in the Spring sky

We stood in the same line

One you never shared with me so long ago

Your ensemble makes you look important

But I know what it hides

A man who lacks a moral compass

And possesses a criminal mind

Better not to  speak

The atmosphere would be contaminated

Toxified by your breath

False manners emanating from your mouth 

If the strangers among you only knew

What you have done and whom you’ve become

 But I-I am the ultimate stranger

An alien from a former life that no longer seems real

A happy human now

I laugh at the end of the counter with a friend

Awaiting morning warmth

Giggling at the  circumstance

Relieved relaxation

Affirmed in my foreboding

Those damn nails couldn’t hold me in the cage you built

Or was it a coffin?

One hundred pounds laid to waste

Much like you

Save Yourself

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Earlier this week,  artist extraordinaire and fellow blogger, Sharon Cummings (sharoncummings) posed a question for her followers. At the end of her post, she asked “What is your saving grace?”  (http://sharoncummings.wordpress.com/2014/05/20/my-saving-g-r-a-c-e/)

The question certainly intrigued me and inspired me to think about what mine might be. Or maybe help me to further define what Grace means to me. I wrote about Grace in a different context last January ( A State of Grace). While I believe that message stills holds true for me today, I also believe that Grace is a multifaceted state of being.  In fact, I thinks it is a huge part of yourself that defines your essence and helps you to survive.

I know that I lost my Grace over time during the course of  my first marriage. The insidiousness of verbal and emotional abuse eats away at your identity  and stops the clock on what makes you tick until you feel hollow inside. It was only during my divorce proceedings (and the endless post divorce shenanigans on his part) that I began to redevelop my inner Grace.

I recall  a moment in July of 2008 when my soon to be ex-husband told me “I hope you scratch, crawl and suffer.” These words were a match that lit my fire. It was clear that he was determined to undermine me financially and emotionally. I was not going to let that happen. The course of events that unfolded over the next few years were tests of my ability to withstand hardship and to stand up for what I believed was right for my own life as well as my sons’.  It was by no means easy. When I felt myself about to fall off the edge,  I would remember the words that my mother said to me, “Don’t let him break you.”

My saving grace is my tenacity. The  positive stubbornness which provides the seeds for stamina and strength. The bold determination to carve out a life for myself.  The confidence that I can and will solve problems and make decisions that empower me. And the faith that all will be well no matter what.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sipping Freedom

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Tori pushed the pedal to the metal as she rounded the curve on the not yet familiar rural road. The predawn air was cool but she had rolled down the top of her jeep anyway. Eager to breathe in the scent of pine and dirt and cleanse herself of last night’s forays and rumblings. She hadn’t any time to shower.  With a nearly two-hour drive back and her kids to get off to school and herself to get off to work,  a shower fell off the list of things to do.

This was the first night she spent at Max’s place. Normally, he would stay at her house when her kids were with their father. But the modest cape on the suburban cul-de-sac was at once gossip central in her neighborhood and at odds with the passionate love affair she had recently begun with Max. She wanted and needed a separation between her life as a mother and a newly single woman.  Lack of privacy seemed the norm once you had children. Neighbors and friends always asking after them and their activities, how they were doing in school. Inevitably, the conversation steered towards you and your interests and activities. That’s what people were after anyway.

She stole a glance at the early spring sky. Sunrise soon. The few clouds a wispy gray and brushstrokes of tangerine. She buried her wish to be free of  the chains of motherhood. She loved her children.  Aslain and Anton were precocious 11-year-old twins who kept her on her toes. Both demanding and entertaining. Full of spunk. Truly replicas of herself at that age and what she continued to be  until her marriage to Eddie sucked her self out of herself.

The ride on this road was the beginning of her new beginning.  An awakening and a reawakening.  She sipped her coffee Max brewed for her as she attempted to dress herself.  For each zip of her fly and buttoning of her shirt, he would be doing the opposite until she finally gave up. They made love one last time while waiting for the coffee to finish.  She knew she was half dressed and still moist and she didn’t care. It tasted good.

She shifted into fifth and roared down the highway.

 

Kellie Elmore offered us the best challenge ever for Free Write Friday.  This piece has been stirring inside me since last fall. And it has been trying to tell itself more so than ever this week.  Just haven’t been able to get the words down. So here’s the start of something I hope!

 

You have a story in you. Everyone does. And I challenge you to take the first step toward telling it. The prompt this week can only come from you. That idea you once had. Or maybe it’s that idea you just had. That story that hasn’t been told that you want to hear, it needs you to bring it to life. And it all begins with one step. That first opening line on that first page of that first chapter. What does it say? That is your prompt.  

Just see how far it takes you. 🙂

Heat Lightning

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Maria doesn’t remember the exact moment she met Danny. Thirty years is a long time to look back on when so much of life has occurred. She remembers it was June and the NBA finals were on. Celtics versus the Lakers. Bird versus Magic. She and a bunch of other twenty-somethings were crowded around someone’s television set in a double-decker apartment.  A Sunday afternoon sunny and warm-the windows open to let the cool breeze inside the second floor living room.

And there he was.  Thin and tan with long blonde hair. A friend of Layla’s (technically her boss), Danny was the editor of a small town newspaper where Layla worked as a reporter. Maria met Layla through an old college friend and they in turn, hit it off.  She quickly became a part of Layla’s social circle.

And just as quickly, she fell in with Danny. Their first date together was dinner at his house on the lake. Gnocchi and wine. Maria doesn’t remember how she got there (she had no car in those days) but does recall spending the night. She loved the spontaneity of their relationship. Days at the beach. Beer and steamers at The Barnacle at sunset. Sunday mornings at the lake. Her hair streaked with sun and her skin as brown as a berry. The absolute sheer physical attraction was the energy that fueled their relationship. Maria had no inhibitions with him.  She was quite sure that her sounds of ecstasy reverberated throughout the walls of the house he shared with three others but felt no sense of self-consciousness regarding her new found self-expression. Danny brought out a lustful beast in her that she found hard to contain. Their forays in the sand nearly bordered on public acts of indecency. (Just thinking about it now causes her heart to race and her body to pulse in places only he could touch.)

They fanned the flames of their affair all summer long.  Their bodies were joined more than they were apart, breaking only for soothing swims and meals that seemed to have aphrodisiac effects. Maria’s head and heart and spirit were full of passion. Danny gave her what she needed without demands and she did the same in turn. They talked and laughed but never got in too deep. Maria loved the fact that he was a true gentleman; he treated her kindly and with a reverence reserved for those he deeply admired. Perhaps this is what drew them together. While they surely fucked like animals at times, he never treated her like a stranger or a one-night stand. But he never did tell her that he loved her nor she him.  A strange dichotomy in some ways. But it worked for as long as it could last.

As summer turned to autumn and the nights grew cold, they said good-bye. Maria felt a sad longing for a little while but she never did see or think about him again.  Until tonight. Sitting here with her friends, Maureen and Joanne at a beach front bar. She looks up from her drink to see a man standing next to her. He smiles. Tan, short cut blonde hair with traces of gray. “Maria”, says Maureen, “This is my boss Danny. I have been dying for you two to meet.”

Temporary Darkness

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She stood in line at the cafe’; nearly anonymous in her cloak. Her hands in the front pouch, her movements silent and slight.  She nourishes herself  in the feeling of wanting to be hidden. To shroud herself in the hood of her over sized sweatshirt.  To comfort herself in the October night’s darkness and seek the void.  Mint tea and chocolate were necessary and perhaps a better alternative to a glass of red wine or a shot of tequila. She wasn’t drinking these days anyway. Hadn’t had even a sip of lightning in over a year.

She spent the day being stripped of her dignity. Questions asked.  Barbs and jabs. Silent jeers. Scoffs and sneers from across the table, trapped in that room for hours. It was about as soothing as walking barefoot on gravel. His false accusations and twisting of the truth had her seeing red. Was this once the man who made her heart sing?

She knew it was just another step in the process. Probably the worst or most unlucky bit of the situation. Positively draining.  Self-comfort was necessary. When she placed her order, the sympathetic manager touched her hand and leaned in as if to give her a hug.  She handed her the tea and treat. “It’s on me,” she said. Her eyes brimming and her throat in a grip, she managed to eke out her welled up appreciation.

The hole of blackness still overwhelmed her. But somewhere -not too deep inside herself- were the beginnings of the path toward that pinprick of light.

 

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This week’s prompt from Kellie Elmore was a five word bank. I had started writing a story last night without seeing this week’s prompt ( By 9pm last night I was tucked in listening to The Moth Radio Hour-great storytelling show, by the way!). Her words fit perfectly into what I had drafted. This piece was born of a small trigger; I was removing my hoodie sweatshirt when a flash of memory came flooding back prompting me to get the ideas out of my head before they festered!  The word prompts from Kellie are below:

Red – Mint – Gravel – Sing – Unlucky

A Self-Portrait in Flowers

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I am no shy wallflower or shrinking violet

No pansy that wilts in the cold

 

Perhaps I am a Daisy:

Spirited and filled with the joyful innocence of a child

 Or Baby’s Breath:

Magnificent and Sublime seeing the beauty in all things

Maybe a Chrysanthemum :

Speaking my  truth and wearing my cape of honesty

 Definitely a Freesia:

Exuding positive energy

 Or Better yet a Gardenia:

Pure joy never postponed

Never a doubt about Gladiolus:

Strength and determination. I wear my sword well!

 My armor-  A Hydrangea:

Resolved to persevere

 A Lavender Chick For Sure:

Gorgeous and fragrant and exotic with the promise of new adventure

 A Magnolia of Steel (of course):

Unrelenting  dignity

Orchid: It makes me sigh:

Always I feel the pull of powerful romantic desire!

A Grifter’s Rap

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Would you ever really know if your beloved strayed?

Or would you believe that you’ve been duplicitously played?

His absences explained so charmingly

As you played your role so willingly

You hang on long for the children’s sake

As you think he still loves you

Those vows he would not break

But he did so again and again

Not always with another

But with the click of a pen

When at last he made the ultimate exit

That last gasp to leave

You thought it was with money

That he did deceive

To fall in with another was too hard to believe

Looking back on it now-it was so long ago

All those scenes so intense 

And his emotions: a mere pretense 

You realize SHE was his reason for love’s final blow

But no matter now, this memory is like vapor

A mischievous muse’s attempt at a silly old caper

The mind goes awry

No need to know why

He’s nothing but a blip in your mind’s eye

First Images

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At first glance, a meeting by chance

Warming up on sweltering day in the tropical summer

Later, an initial re-aquaintance

in the post race cooling waters

Effortless conversation deeper than the liquid that floated around us

Soothing our heat

A natural ebb and flow

Sunlight’s spark on a newly forming shore

A long run twelve hours hence

My skin bubbled and blistered

Unaccustomed to the equatorial temps

My hair matted with sweat

My mouth sticky- white from thirst

You lingered

Is that when our hearts first burst?

 

An attempt to capture a moment or two in time when the seeds of new love take hold without the pair fully knowing it is happening.  Snippets of memory nearly six years old that still make me smile.

What Can I Tell You?

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I cannot tell you that it will not hurt

That the psychic pain will sear you

burn you to your very core

I cannot tell you that your body will become a wasteland

that you will look like a refugee from the worst of domestic wars

That you will feel like a starved prisoner

trapped in a situation for which you have no control

I cannot tell you that you will not worry

That every movement will be fraught with fear about your future

That you will be staring down that black hole of endless bills and debt

I cannot tell you that you will not be angry

Foaming and raging at the actions and constant manipulations of the other

That his need for control will feel like another constraint and strangulation

 

I can tell you that the pain will fold itself into the dark corners of your heart

That your body once again will be fertile ground

I can tell you that you will become a citizen of your own nation

a freed captive with a belly full of self-protecting ammunition

I can tell you that every advance will be fueled by your freedom

That the once endless abyss of scarcity will overflow with abundance

 I can tell you that your resentment will replaced by indifference 

that you will be the mistress of your own destiny

and the  queen of your own kingdom