Writing Reality

  There’s so much I can’t reveal, as it’s an ongoing investigation.  Death happens in the middle of Life. The death that could be avoided hasn’t been. It’s arrived, untimely at best. It’s not that it’s all that unusual. It’s the timing of it. The inconvenience of it for some. And no, it’s not God’s will. Yet for some this death is a tool. A tool to prop up their ongoing ideology to increase our prisoner-ship, 32% thought they wanted it. 31% wanted more rights and liberty for all, and about 36% either didn’t care or were gerrymandered out of it or convinced that their vote didn’t matter. Many of the 32% were so enraged about the people who were different from them in having and going to have just as many rights as they have had, that’s one of the reasons that they’d voted for an indecent man and a fascist regime. Kind of like biting your nose to spite your face; however, helping to annihilate the rest of the vessel and its origin while you’re in it. Others in the 32% not on...

  You know I really don’t want one; however, it’s eventually going to happen. I picture my walking off into some blizzard never to be found again or for some time. And the obituary would be delayed and become some miniscule line of, “…apparently her bones were found after the January thaw… She leaves behind two adult children, two squirrels, a bunny rabbit and a dog castrated and limping, as her husband predeceased her many years ago.” By the way, you’re supposed to laugh at that. I have pictured that would be the end of whoever me was. Numerous years ago, I had a friend who was about 33 years my senior. This is not unusual for me. Most of my truly good friends in my adult life have been six to 33 years my senior. I write of my obituary in such a way to find humor, because for some, death can be sad and I despise sadness. I’d rather make people laugh. I enjoy watching people succeed. Albeit, usually in sport, but in business that works too; however, for a successful business it...

  I’ve rarely told anyone this; however, I’ve recently revealed something that I’d inadvertently done in my life. Since I could remember, I’d begun to realize I would seek out the most geeky, intelligent people to associate with. Too, I wanted depth and kindness in all my interactions with people. I’d enjoyed being around sometimes quirky girls, geeky guys, who were brilliant. As well in contrast those who were in remedial reading classes, or those who couldn’t be mainstreamed into our public education system back in the 1970’s. Some of the things that these two groups of children had in common were curiosity, kindness and a willingness to be silly. All of which I could relate to. Upon much reflection, I’d wondered if anyone in my childhood understood what I was doing to the point where I hadn’t even recognized what type of person I sought out to spend any extra time I’d had with. The tip of that iceberg came in numerous questions from my mother. The first one I’d remembered wa...

  … people die eventually. The route that transpires us towards death perhaps is a culmination of love, respect, action, inaction, beliefs and genetics, although I wouldn’t give genetics all that much weight. Yes, I’m coming out and saying so. When it comes to genetics, there’s always room for improvement with all of us; however, most of us either don’t know what the mission might be to alter our possible deadly predispositions or we’re not interested in knowing or don’t believe in the potential of helping oneself in that direction for whatever reason. Yet, most of us strive for longevity. My life insurance agent who I’ve known since 1985 suggested I buy into long term care. That was after I’d told him I wanted to spend less, save it for ‘the kids’. I like the guy, but he lost me on that. “No. But thanks. I just want to know if my life insurance policy benefits our daughters in any way.” In other words, am I willing to continue to spoil our daughters on some level? ‘Absaposafuc...

  “I think I’m coming to the end.” I quipped as I stood outside waving to the healthcare practitioner I’d just visited for pain. She nodded in agreement. She and I are about a year apart in age. Her two children are about three to six years older than my two children. Although we have different licenses, we met at medical classes in January 2004 in Secaucus, New Jersey for recertifications. We seemed to hit it off on the first day of three. That day last week after I’d said goodbye, I got into my car, raised a brow and thought, ‘See, she agreed with that comment.’ I thought this as she was often surprised when we didn’t agree on a medical protocol. She’d reminded me of what I should do with the pain I’d had for over three decades, yet this time her voice had rolled into my head the week before I’d seen her. It reminded me of what I could do before I saw her the next week. So, I re-added the painful exercises which reduced my pain, including nerve pains by fifty percent or more in...

  November 2022—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 kitc...

Even in the rain it was an enjoyable run. I’d been struggling with my running more than normal. Yes, struggling is part of running. I would venture to say five of seven days per week of running are most difficult for me. My little sister, in 1994 at age 18 thought running long-distance was easy for me. I explained to her as my husband, and I took her away in June of 1994 to Disney in Florida. It was our high school graduation gift to her. She’d brought up the running subject because I’d just run eight miles that afternoon in what was Florida’s humid and 107-degree, sunny weather that day. She stated, “Running is so easy for you…” I remarked, “No. Running is difficult most days for me. And I think it’s difficult for most long-distance runners initially and the difficult runs ebb and flow. But most days, you have to encourage yourself to get out and run the miles.” She was stunned. Many years ago, our youngest daughter loved to talk about earthworms. It was her curiosity of where...

  I Run That’s what I do. I run, not to run away but towards. I run with severe commitment, whether anyone is watching me or not—I imagine perhaps no one is watching. I run under-the-wire, with my own insignificance. Just a temporary grain of sand made of stardust and ash perhaps. Yes, I’ve competed in hundreds of running events and have done my own charitable runs; however, many times it was to give me an excuse to put in massive amounts of miles for my own scientific reasons. Some people run to socialize, I don’t. Many compete for a prize; I have found that has not been all of my driving force to run for miles or hours after hours. I’ve competed many times hoping to win, to show my running was not for naught. But no matter how much I demonstrated outside of my insignificant world of long-distance running, it was still unacceptable to those I was trying to stop from hating me for my different approaches to living—they felt that their knowing of my running impinged upon their l...