Writing Reality

  If you've ever seen the movie,  "The Green Mile". You'll know the line, "I'm tired boss." Its what this man says who i s wrongly convicted of murder(s) and is soon to be executed.  He's been done wrong by the color of his skin because of racism. A nurse, who's no longer alive, she would be about my age now. She had bought me the DVD of the said movie. I became a tad obsessed watching it over 15 years ago after she'd brought it to me as a gift for Christmas/Hanukkah. We celebrated both. I think I've watched it not quite ten times.  What drew me to do so years ago wasn't just the acting. It was deeper. It was what I knew, somewhat understood about humanity. Yet at the same time, couldn't wrap my mind around it. It? It, is bigotry, ergo: racism, bullying. Those things in life that not all experience. Many ignore it out of trauma or perhaps convenience. As I write my Memoir and am pushed to dig deep, be detailed, bringing the read...

 I've fired quite a few weapons. The last weapon was a M16A2, last time I fired a weapon, that was in 2006. First time was at age 15 with police officers in the summer of 1978.  I don't hate guns, but I'm not a gun enthusiast. I prefer other training and weaponry for myself, my family. I had this discussion about 10 weeks ago with someone who was still in the military and serves us. We chatted one night for a few hours. He said, "No one needs an AR-15" I replied, "No one needs an AR-15. I like handgrenades. I feel good with them, but its not for civilian life." We agreed. He reminded me, people who are serving are non-partisan.  So, I come to today, again its about separating ammunition keeping that locked up separately from a weapon like a handgun, a rifle, a shotgun and the like. Again, an adult who had a minor still at home doesn't seem to have done the correct thing and it cost innocent lives, mostly young lives once again. As the case in Bend Or...

I truly do not like people. Yep. My husband used to call me Cave-Woman from time to time. Yet, I'm into observing people usually in passing by at a quicker than a pedestrian walking pace. I've ran through our little town, down nearly every street. Sometimes even a dead end or two in a run. I have done that in many towns in our county and neighboring county as well. As I'd run through our town, the next two towns and waaalaaah! I'm in Fairlawn running circles in a cul de sac. It was probably some tree-line that drew me to that street. Yeah, tree-hugger here. But afterwards I'm soon heading more south into Hawthorne, North Haledon, or what have you into the next county. Or I'll run North and through a few towns to Montvale then into another state, New York. Its been about a year since I did that New York run, though. For 30 milers I have to be uninjured, and that not being the case recently. Also, a few years since I'd done my MP to Bear Mountain or Reeves Me...

 From "Authentic, a Memoir"...     ....As the air seemed still, I looked over at the lieutenant, who I knew didn’t like women being in the Marines—then I looked at the goofy Marine and said, “You know this is not only a new cover; however, after I’d gotten out of sickbay yesterday, I sized and blocked this cover.” I heard a Marine say, “Just pay her!” I said, “No. Come here.” As I looked straight-on at the goofy Marine. Smiling he backed up. Yes, I was coming in for the kill. I’d get my kick out of the situation.     I moved forward, slowly walking toward his ordinary five-foot eleven inch hundred- and eighty-pound frame. “Come here.” I ordered the goofy Marine, a Lance Corporal (that’s one stripe and rifles). He backed up, I lunged forward grabbing the collar of his white t-shirt. I pulled him as fast as I could and landed a beautiful shin kick with my newly stripped and polished black military right boot. He landed on the ground, half moaning from what had bee...

The other day I realized I had to seek pain relief that I could not attain on my own. I usually figure out how and why, ergo the physiology of why I might be pained or feeling lousy and such. I surmised that I’d driven near 800 miles in under seventy hours. Which approximately 95% of the driving had been in the rain. And as Dolores, the retired detective I had visited after visiting our youngest daughter at college said, “Driving in the rain is taxing.” She would know. She’d been around the block more than once at age 94. Putting many decades in as a law enforcement official whilst raising two daughters as a single mother. Dolores still had such incredible energy as she and I had a near three course meal together for four hours that night, shutting down a Greek restaurant after ten in the evening. And still chatting as we left the empty restaurant and walked out to my parked car. Just days later I knew the surgical site I’d battled the most with for over thirty years daily was screamin...

  Javelin and Playing Ladies Softball     “Wait, you’re on a softball team?” Mr. Clancy nearly spit out the gum he was chewing as he’d scoffed. I replied, “Well. Yeah. It’s a ladies softball team for our town. I started playing with them in seventh grade. I’m their pitcher. It’s like once a week.” Mr. Clancy’s comment came as a trove of big girls showed up one afternoon in March 1979 to try out for the new girl’s javelin throwing team. There was a plethora of girls trying out. They were robust. People who I knew who were considered ultimate jocks were already acting as though they’d made the team. I hoped to be a spoiler and capture one of the three spots on the girl’s javelin team that day.     The test was two throws of a softball. Whoever threw the furthest in the top three throws, was on the team. There were at least 20 girls there. Some I’d never recognized. I saw Yvonne and Joy. They were two of our girl’s top three basketball team members. I...