Writing Reality

The Book Before I was born, there was a woman on my Dad’s side of the family. I didn’t hear her name until one day, when I overheard my parents talking in a room nearby. I was eight at the time. This woman was Aunt Grace. So, the story I heard goes. This brought me to the thoughts I had when I awoke this morning. The thing that disturbed my parents about me at age eight was my faith. It wasn’t like theirs.   And the only person that they could compare it to, was this woman in my Dad’s life till 1962, Aunt Grace. My Dad’s Aunt Grace was a Christian Science Practitioner. I was born after she’d died that same year. No one I knew fifty years ago ever read the Bible. Nor spoke about doing so on any regular basis. People went to church, and that was that.   My maternal grandmother said one day about church to me, “…When mass was in Latin. He could’ve been selling us a basket of bread. And I wouldn’t have known the difference…” Meanwhile, I was praying and imagining miracles

The Gift Many of us die by incidental disease.   My goal is to have a final fight with a Bear in the woods, and lose? Yes, of course. Bloodied and all. Yet, graciously as well. I’m good like that. Any coach knowing me. Knows I’m that way. I had one coach say to others and I, as he has had to look at me. As he was trying to get a joint or a bone back into place in my body, “She’s the perfect soldier.”   Alas, the only other way for me to die is of ‘old age’ . Which has been considered not politically correct to say. I consider that unfortunate for others.   To me, either way to die is quite admirable. However, most wouldn’t accept it. The Gift I have is that I will. I don’t truly completely contemplate heaven and hell. I have nearly no clue as to what’s really out there.   Yet, I have personally been at death’s door enough to know what it feels like. There’s a brief adrenalin rush. Well at least for me there’s been, on each occasion of my own possible demise. However, about

Watch how morning and evening toll along...

I’m Here As my mother and I walked home from church. The rain pouring on that raw, November day in 1973. She, feeling low as I was age eleven. We stopped on the dirt road that led away from the church and in the direction of our new home. My parent’s first owned home, in their now sixteen year marriage. She paused as the near warmth of our home lay waiting. We held our umbrella together. She began to fret over what she realized she could not and had not been able to control in life. We then stood still, as the rain sunk deeply into the puddles of the muddy road our feet stood upon. A look of desperation was held in the grips of her sad lonely face. A woman of beauty torn by things she could not control. Yet, felt responsible to do so for me. Mom conveyed she was alone in her life’s journey, and that it was a torture of the unknown. I responded, “I’m here…” Mom replied, “I should have named you ‘Hope’…” I think about that day in the rain most often. And I kno

Oh Jack! It was around the summer of 1971, before my ninth birthday.   My older brother, Don was feeling his oats as a young ten year old boy would. Many things he did, since I was many times his partner in … well only certain crimes. We didn’t tell not only NOT Mom.   We didn’t tell NOBODY, what we were up to. That summer I pestered him about he and his buddies new club house.   He banned me from knowing where it was and from seeing it. I was pissed. We climbed trees together, throwing rocks at each other (never got hurt, so Mom didn’t know.), but we made sure we didn’t argue in front of Mom. Mom liked peace and quiet.   She more or less demanded it. So, we took it outside, sun, rain, snow, and if Mom let us, even in ice storms. We had a rule though. “Don’t leave any marks Mom can see… Even if we took damage.” It was an unspoken code.   No matter how badly we retaliated against each other, Mom never knew. So, this particular   summer, Don was being a bit of a turkey. I

The Funny Things We Do I still feel every year that if I don’t throw a football, for some unknown reason. Perhaps my dream of playing for a football team such as the Oakland Raiders, will be forever lost. Although, I’m in my sixth decade of living, that thought still remains. Hey, a one hundred and five pound woman can still dream. It’s not illegal. It’s my once a year dream. I even contemplate or have, on how I could take the tackles.   Not getting them, giving them. Everyone has their fantasy football of some sort. Mine I play in my head once a year, ALONE. Like the song is sung, “Lose your dreams and you will lose your mind…”   And I’ll add, ‘ even if they appear to be impossible’ . It’s okay to dream.   It is okay to remain deep inside our self, holding onto some innocence of the child from within. Many times, in our darkest hours its what makes us journey on. No matter how ridiculous your dream(s) may appear to others. Remember that’s their issue, not yours. It’s none of t

The Devil Made Me… I’m Calling it…         Well you know the rest. Recently, I’ve come to the conclusion ever more so, as to why we do what we do when we do it.   It’s some form of the devil?   But not really.   That’s just a catch phrase. The bottom line is your HABITS. No, not the ones the nuns wear. The other ones. I’m not denying that there isn’t some evil possession thing out there. Oh Contrare!   I refuse to argue that. What I’m pointing out is, what we do from the beginning of our own individual existence, is most times what we continue to do. Perhaps to be as well.         My husband, medical doctors, our children and a few friends hear me reiterate the query, ‘ Why when we know better do we not...?’ So, my next question is, ‘Why is it that people, mainly adults, who do the same things over and over again. Receiving adverse effects that they cannot benefit   from, continue on their path of destruction. What’s with that? ’ That has been my question. I figured it out

Or perhaps this story will enlighten you... Elementary Smackdown At age six, I entered Mrs. Gross’ second grade class.   Mrs. Gross was kind, pleasant, and   had a slight build. Mrs. Gross although she kept a calm in the air, it was not from brutality. It truly must have been through passion. Love perhaps. In second grade there are many lessons to learn. Like when to defend yourself and do it without getting into trouble. With a dress on of course. That is, if you were a girl. Also ‘cause your Mom told you so and the school expected proper attire. Which back in the 1960’s girls wore dresses and skirts most days the week then once a week a nice pair of slacks to school.   It was the way back then. One day, I just know Mrs. Gross saw me mounted on top of Nicky, beating him up of course. Oh, he deserved it.   Oh, Nicky. The most teased kid in our class. One day he tried to turn the tables on me. He started making fun of me in the schoolyard before the school bell rang. Kids who

Picture This…     Throughout my life I’ve been in search for the idea of picturing what I dream of happening and hoping it would show up. It’s not a bad idea to think as such. I would do all I could to make something happen and at times to make something not happen. I’ve been successful at both. I’m not going to say, ‘what you think will just show up in your life.’ But what I will say is if you train it. You work in the direction of what you want.   You may be bewildered, yet the idea or goal is not thwarted.   You just might get what you dream of. I could write for weeks on end examples. However, I’ll give you four examples.     In 1988 10K Cherry Blossom Race. I was upset because I missed making the 1988 cut-off for the Marathon Olympic Trials by three minutes, due to an injury I could not control. So here I was focused on the race that would have four New Jersey women who were considered stars and had qualified for the 1988 Olympic Trials Marathon. My goal was to beat

“A Try Hard” A new term I’ve heard from some of the high school children of today. “A Try Hard”, is someone who makes a best effort in some skill or subject in school, that they may not be talented in. They study harder.   They train harder.   They are more detailed in their studies or the sport they wish to succeed in becoming good at or at the very least making a team or achieving a better grade. Upon hearing this phrase, “They are ‘A Try Hard’.” I realized I have always been ‘A Try Hard’.   I can say, most things in my life, I’ve had to train harder, study more, be more patient, care more and well…try harder. Yes, I have been laughed at throughout the years of my living on this earth. However, I can now say, to all the people, children included who had mocked me when I was a child. There are those who will snicker, mock you, put you down. Yet what I know, is that they definitely may never achieve as much as I   have in a lifetime. That is for certain. Neither will they have

“What if it’s Been All Wrong?” As the story goes of a particular judge in the end of the nineteenth century…   ‘…He hated his wife and he hated his life… And there he lay on his deathbed and with his last breathes he said, “What if it’s been all wrong?” Recently, I explained to my husband when a person pursues on pushing their agenda, sometimes they do it innocently. Sometimes they do it because they are disappointed in life and they are angry. Usually, I see this as people get older, nearing retirement age. Some become more forceful and forward on their beliefs.   Quite often the more educated and the more weight that they’ve held in society, is when that occurs. Career areas, such as having been in law, education, finance or in medicine they are apt to think they know more than most. As well, if they are a bit older than the other person they are speaking with.   Those people in their expertise, appear to transpose their expertise in one field and think they know more in an

Diaries of the Dismissed As I lay in bed at one thirty in the morning, after a two hour sleep. I reckon with the demons of the past.   Not because I necessarily want to.   But because they are there.   They are telling me, ‘Get up and write’ . ‘ There is no time!’ , they scream for nearly two of the three hours I lay in bed knowing I am spiritually, and physically wiped. I know full well, if I do get up and write. No matter how important it is that I do, I know that I will pay later. I’ve been through these episodes of, ‘Get up and write’ . When I let them go, sometimes, I’m disappointed.   But this time, is one of the times I must not get up and write, nor stretch, nor go outside for a run in the wee hours of the morning. That brings me to the laying in bed. Praying that I stay in bed and just rest, healing other things and other people in my mind’s eye.   Why? Because I am compelled. It is what I do. I meditate and pray.   Trust me, when you live in my realm, there’s en

Chicken Little… Does His Last Dance     I have said about certain people in my life, “…they think the sky is falling.   They are like Chicken Little.   They need to stop. The sky is not falling.” Correct, the sky is not falling. Their faith has, though. And that’s who Chicken Little has been in my mind. Today I will dive slightly into our mysterious and quite often misunderstood cellular structure. Cellular structure inside us and in our air.     In our lives we have people warn us of things they didn’t do, due to fear.   The outcomes they think will happen, because perhaps it is their excuse as to why they didn’t do certain things with their time. Most of the time, the reason why they didn’t try to start a business, attempt to exercise daily for their health, didn’t change their diet was, fear.   Fears that we have, many are unfounded.       “…Unfounded Fear…” My husband started using this terminology in the beginning years of our relationship. I met Norm when he already

I Write the Songs…      A story I’ve told some. To this day it is story that I am fascinated by.   There are those times in your life when you feel you have nothing to offer to life. You wonder, ‘ where’s your talent? ’ I do that a lot.   I know I can work anywhere. I can last with my mental drive and endurance.   That I know.   But I know that is not a talent.     Yet, I know somewhere in my essence I must have a little piece of talent in the arts.   No, not the martial arts.   The music, painting, drawing, and writing type arts, I’m talking about. Our youngest daughter has it. However, she’s adopted. My brother had it. My sister has it.   Her kids have it. You know where it comes from? I think I do. I’ll tell you a story and let you figure it out.     One day in early 1975, my Dad came home with this big blue case, with brass buckles enclosing with what was inside of it. He rested it down on our living room chair that afternoon.   The sunshine reflected and peered through

Demanding Health…We the People     When you don’t know what to write. Not because you are having a brain-fart of some sort.   Yet, it’s because you have so much to write. This brings me to this morning.   I wrote something I will not publish for days, weeks, months or perhaps years.   It was a short piece on the ethics of medicine.   The medicine we do today.   Needless to say, it was a scathing piece.   Yet, I know not all medical personnel need to be raked over the coals.   But they need to have their hand in understanding something about other’s unethical behaviors in their fields. That brings me to the patients. We the People…Demanding Health.     Then it comes to patients. Patient’s willingness to comply. I can tell you now. I guarantee that at least eighty-five percent of patients don’t come within sixty percent of compliance with what is instructed of them from the medical experts. I also guarantee it’s a higher percentage of non-compliance as well. It could be as high a