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Showing posts from November, 2022

The Fight Within

  The Fight Within Barbarism. At times the things that drive me. Dante had told me, “We run to deal with our demons.” That is mostly true. But I witness beauty as I clean out the attic of my mind. And what do those people do who decide not to move their bodies outside vigorously unaided by supersonic earplugs to the nature of life—mechanical or otherwise? This morning as I stepped back to look at myself watching an old boxing match. Which included multiple body and head shots by both men to both men—in a light-weight professional match from the mid-1970s. I wondered what the draw was? What about it invigorated this woman called Me? Yes, I wanted to be there—in the ring. Too, how horrible a person I must be to want and to enjoy the essence of that. Is this our nature? Or is just mine? Am I that old soul we never speak of? Or have I just landed—inquisitive in the nature of our minds? Who is this person I watch? I pick apart each day as to what makes me do what I do or what I desire

Live and In Person

  Live and In Person   I ran up with an uneaten peanut butter cookie in my hand—timing my ingestion, chewing as I ran. It’d been a decade or so since I literally ate while running. So far I hadn’t wanted to puke, neither had I choked on cookies—only on water. Which I quickly learned to let it dribble like drool onto my face, then onto my windbreaker. As I sidled up to another competitor. I inquired, “Hey. You mind if I run with you?” “How you doing?” We began to run together in the late stages of the event. He about ten years my junior. “Ahhh dual adductor cramping—it abates when I begin to walk a bit. Then doesn’t seem to reoccur till about a mile of running again.” “Drinking water?” He asked wearing a camelback the whole time of the event. “Yeah. I had like forty ounces before this morning before the gun went off.” “That’s pretty good.” “Yeah. I’m not so sure why this insane cramping is happening. You?” “Yeah. It’s happening to others today too.” “I thought so.

Black Friday

  As the song by Leonard Cohen, “You Want It Darker” rang in my head—help that never comes. Why? Why does the help never come? The help we need is simple. It is simple. What kills the flame?   We struggle with demons—all of us do. And we put those demons on loved ones with envy—people we’re supposed to have some camaraderie with. Instead, we refuse it.   But why? I could say some primal need for more. Here we are Black Friday . I’m so proud of my youngest for turning down a Black Friday shopping offer from one of her best friend’s families. And good God I hate crowds. There’s tragedy in crowds. Yes, Covid worked for me. I could stay in my she-cave. As I’d written in between caring for a dying spouse. Too, as I knew our little family was safe and sound in all the illusion of shelter. I crave peace and quiet. Yet, the life presented to me has been a dichotomy. My artistic expression appears in writing—yet my writing would have been nil if I didn’t venture outside my comfort zone. Co

One if by Fire; Two if by Bear

  One if by Fire; Two if by Bear Last night as I finally was settling down with a cup of coffee and a sweet snack to watch some television and play solitaire on my little electronic gizmo—being on my feet from just after six in the morning. Got my one hour of morning chores done—then to food store for two more items to complete the Thanksgiving meal for our youngest and I as she was in school. On to cooking and cleaning for four hours—a light training run, then raking for an hour and then six hours of writing in-between conversations and making dinner for the two of us. I wondered how long I could stay up—happy I was able to get in a light training run coming back from Saturday’s disastrous competition event along with an injury I didn’t realize I had. You’d think after over fifty years of competing in sports I would’ve recognized something was wrong beforehand, but no—it was not typical. Worse yet I felt ready and rested for it—yet somehow my energy was so suddenly depleted in the

I know you don't read my...

  I know you don't read my... As I write about prehistoric stages, monsters, and research galaxies that the space Hubble has viewed—and scientists declared. I realized something about a particular person that’s been in my life nearly fifty years. The thought—'I know you don’t read my shit.’—crossed my mind. Yeah, sounds crass but its true. They’re self-involved even when I’ve acquiesced them ten times over, listening to their lives’ situations—then desired an opinion from them. My youngest daughter asked one night, “Mom why do you guys talk so loud?” I replied, “Sorry Honey. But I’m trying to bring her back to earth to stay on subject.”   That was four months ago. After that—I decided I’m done trying too hard with this relationship—like I always have. The other day—I had a disastrous run. Actually, in an event. I despise disastrous events—but they happen. They can happen in training, in the kitchen, at work, in competition—practically anywhere else you could imagine

The end of the world as we knew it

  As I drove and listened to the news this morning—mostly noting tragedies of the world delivered to my soul. A song rang out in my head. “It’s the end of the world as we know it…” The line repeated itself over and over again—inside my little mind. Sitting at a red light—I responded with the larger part of me, “Sure is.” The odd thing is no one would understand how funny that is—the acknowledgement of realizing what that actually means to me. By the way, I’ve not ever liked that song. Why it popped into my head—? When I drive I might listen a CD if I know the words and am in the mood to sing to it. Yeah I sing in my car. Singing in the shower is too expensive and if you reside in our little town—well the water coming out of the faucet is sub-par to your health. But hey, it’s only smacking your skin—the integumentary system which is the largest body system of the ten we have—And Oh. A little note, it’s the most permeable. So, most days I do the two ten second smacks of water per day—y

Its About WE

  Its about WE Nancy Pelosi and Condoleezza Rice two high achieving women. You know not everybody can appreciate that—but that is who they have been and who they are. I put them in the same sentence because they didn’t strive for the spotlight—they strived for change. Change for the better. One a Democrat and the other a Republican. Both have been disrespected. Both have been threatened, I know so. I know that most people do not always use their ability to see another point. To temporarily change a view on any topic. Most people won’t budge on a mindset concerning religion, politics, culture, stigmas and the like. I’m someone that reckons with my views and the ability to flex my thoughts—be open to everything and attached to nothing. It’s constant work to reevaluate your views to see if perhaps you should tweak them. Change them temporarily or alter them a bit. Why? Because at the end of the day—understanding or making room for understanding is the answer. The answer to true, enr

Its the Coffee!!

  True Story: It's the Coffee!! Yesterday in a local Mom and Pop Nursery—I finally got out after writing for the better part of nine hours. I had been allowing myself to get out for my daily run. But not to run errands. I'd put them off—primari;ly for my editing and writing. A woman—one of the owners I've gotten to know over the past decade began to chat after I'd purchased a wreath. I was telling her about a novel I was writing about monsters and various ways to figure scenery, names and locations. I said, "You know in truly good monster stories there must always be an oil refinery." We giggled. She asked, "How do you come up with this stuff?" I replied, "I do a lot of research. I listen and study movie directors, producers and writers. I do research on names and figure out in Latin what the name of a real person may mean—the ones we might not like. Then I remanage their names and make them the characters that are demean

Its Just the Way...

"That's just the way it is... some things will never change..." if you can recall the song, there's quite a bit of truth to those words. It's not a complaint, it's a fact. I witness complaints about all sorts of things people may have control over. Their complaints are quite often frivolous because they are unwilling to do the work to help themselves for the things they can change. However, the things you cannot and will not change are politics. No one person, no group can completely manage 300 million people, unless you take away their free-will. Which would be and is a sin against all humanity.  As I've gotten upset over the racism, the election deniers and so forth. I realize what most others do not realize... There's just so much peace that can be acquiesced to all the people all the time in every facet of living. There will always be something that will get under our skin. The difference is when you're someone who has witnessed men cont

The Most Difficult Thing...

  The Most Difficult Thing...  (Written 11/14/2021) One day, about seven years ago as I was performing therapy on a pain patient from a doctor. This elder patient asked me an interesting question. She asked, “What is the most difficult thing you have to do?” I reiterated how I thought she meant the query, wondering exactly what she was asking. For even at age ninety, I’d known her about ten years at this point. I did not want to assume it meant things others may think I didn’t have to, but chose to do.  No, she understood that I ran, because it kept me healthy enough and strong enough to do my job. At this point our two children were approaching their teens. Yes, parenting always has its challenges, but that does ebb and flow. Labor of love. My job, I have to work. But, also a labor of love. Cleaning the house, cooking, food-shopping, all labors of love. And I can say I didn’t find any of them that engrossing on a daily basis to see them as ‘the most difficult thing’ I have to do. Howe

Why I served...

Where it all came from... no clue... Perhaps a prayer or two, or one hundred and two every night as I lay in bed as a child, wondering who I should be. And to always make the right decisions to do the right thing. I wanted to be noble, honorable, fix things. You can't fix the world or all its problems.  But you can pitch in to make something somewhere better. I wanted my mother to feel at peace and to feel empowered.  Peace I could deliver by being my older brother's keeper, as she desired so. She lost her first two sons. All of it and the lack of proper caring for her made her quite an ill adult. One held in life's ever more fragile state, is where she was for nearly all her years. Empowerment, she needed to see women were as strong as she thought she could be. That's if the cards had landed just right.  And since they didn't, I had to show her I could shuffle mine. I could not care to be traditional. Not be concerned what others threw my way, to take me off an unc

Marking Time

  Marking time As I close in on the third anniversary of the beginning of my husband’s end. I did this morning what he’d done on every election morning. I mindfully pretended to be him as if he were still alive and teaching Math at Passaic High School. He’d get up early to doing a few chores, making coffee—making then packing his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Washing an apple to add to his lunch bag alongside a little bag of the mini pretzels that he liked. He'd give me a kiss and grab his backpack, place his wallet in the front left inside pocket of his jacket, grab his car keys and say, “I’m going to vote before I head off to work. I should be home before four—unless I decide to go to BJ’s for more water. We’re good on paper goods now. My pretzels are running low. Remember to Vote. It’s important Jody.” I’d nod, “I don’t have to get to clients till one. I’ll Vote this morning right after I get the kids to school.” Then the door would close behind him. I’d stand in the kit