The Doll Collector
She rushes up the concrete walkway and painted wooden stairs to the stoop,
where she inserts her key in the lock of the old, studious door and enters.
Dropping her bag, scarf and keys in a worn chair beside the entrance, she kicks off
her heels as her gaze fixates on a smaller door directly in front of her.
Rushing over to it, she turns the knob and enters its narrow, winding stairway
full of wonder and magic. It twists up and to the left with light shining as she
pulls a hanging string. Small apothecary drawers fill the entire wall on each side,
all mismatched colors with little gleaming knobs.
The further she climbs, the brighter it becomes as an octagonal window at the
top lets in sparkling light to explore this hidden world along with her. Pulling
open select drawers, she finds the precious items she seeks, collecting them in a
basket, as she hums happily to herself. This seems to be the part she most enjoys;
the gathering of tiny ideas to put together a grand scene to film and edit.
She’s curated all these tiny bits and baubles over the years, creating this
exclusive space for them, tucked away safely, from prying eyes and stray fingers.
She is a collector, and as one collects, it is imperative to have a space to safely
store items of great value, if not to the world, then to the amasser.
This tiny escape, under the stairs, that winds upward and around to the
window, is that space for all her fabulous finds. They are carefully housed and
tucked away here, until needed and then they come out to be grouped together;
photographed and shared with the world.
Like a timeless tradition of her essence acquiring these poured over flea
market and antique store finds, to have them find new life living among her rare
collection of cast-offs. And bring joy to an array of eyes as they encounter novel
photographed storylines.
The life of a doll collector is never easy. It is the endless hunt for new
props, dolls, clothing items, creating from vintage fabrics. Pairing new dolls with
old stuffed animals to produce imaginary storylines that intrigue and capture
hearts and minds.
There tend to be endless ideas flowing through her. So off she goes to her
secret closet under the stairs, pulling dolls that she keeps in drawers from a
bureau. Seeking accessories to create the adventures of Alice, a mermaid and
beloved bears baby’s birth, or glimpses of big eyes wondering who the ‘new guy’ is.
Some ideas are written down for later use, but usually it all comes as fast as
lightening. Then hands will find the right dolls in a drawer and feet will lead the
way to the correct step containing the perfect accessory. Add some music, a special
effect, film oneself running up stairs or hanging a pendant, closing a door in a
picturesque outfit and Wha-la! A story will be born.
SL 4/30/23
Sunday, April 30, 2023
Monday, April 03, 2023
Romance (CRW150 Post #9)
Romance
Arms outstretched on bed,
silken nightie lay on rug,
winter light peeking in.
Rich smell of hot brew.
Smiles greet one another,
swallows chirp a welcome.
Childish laughter sails through air,
meal is ready,
sunset hums long goodnight.
Arms outstretched on bed,
silken nightie lay on rug,
winter light peeking in.
Rich smell of hot brew.
Smiles greet one another,
swallows chirp a welcome.
Childish laughter sails through air,
meal is ready,
sunset hums long goodnight.
Thursday, March 30, 2023
It's Never Too Late (CRW150 - #8)
“It is never too late to be what you might have been”, George Elliot, has been on my frig for years. I see it every day and oftentimes I don’t even notice it. But when I stop to drink something, standing alongside my refrigerator, I see this quote and read it again. And I think, ‘Yes”, I can’t go backwards and do things over again the way I could have or should have done them in the first place. But I can move forward in the knowledge that every day is another opportunity to do things differently, to try again and this time, not to fuck it all up. At least with some things.
So, even though I wasn’t sure who even wrote this quote in the first place, it stuck with me all these years and struck a chord inside my mind, to be better and do more. Not because someone else told me to do so, but because I wanted it for myself, for my own life. Because I chose to honor a life I had already been given.
George Eliot wrote this quote in 1884 and it is still as valid as it was then, over one hundred and thirty years ago. We live with so many regrets today, as individuals and as a society. It is nice to think we are not at the bottom of anything and if we are, we can climb up to keep going. I’m all for that. We all hit rock bottom or find ourselves in places doing things, when all we want to do is the thing we’ve always wanted to do; the thing that calls to our very souls. It doesn’t mean hang up everything and leave it all behind, it means to take time for the other things you may want as well. Or go back and finish what you started, enjoy the life you have and don’t give up.
Some of us actually get to accomplish what we set out to do in life and we love doing it. But, lets face it, most of us do not. We are working to earn a living to support ourselves and our families. And along the way, our hopes and dreams got lost. There just wasn’t enough money or a way to make them work, so they were abandoned. But that doesn’t mean they should stay that way, it just means we have to try harder to find a way to make them come true. And to become what fulfills us, to be what we wee mean to always be, because it is never to late. I feel that sometimes taking chances, stepping out of our security and risking our comfort and complacency, can be daunting, but an important segway gaining the support, knowledge and opportunities we need to accomplish new goals.
I was a single mom for over twenty-three years and had the opportunity to finally go back to school and believe me, it was exciting. Along the way, I also developed new skills as I helped my kids and their community of co-op education. This grew into job opportunities in theater that helped me build two separate resumes over the years as I worked with outstanding actors and directors here in the valley. So, you just never know what will come your way when you least expect it and when you are open to new possibilities.
I am still exploring the person I was always meant to be, as I enjoy writing and art.
Tuesday, March 21, 2023
Pauley (CRW150 - Post #7)
Kathy Cannless and I were walking back from the barber shop, sucking on jolly rancher sticks, when I spotted our classmate.
“There’s Pauley”, I said gesturing with my green candy.
Kathy looked up from her book and nodded, “Oh yeah, hey Pauley”.
Pauley waved and ran up to us, his red hair flapping in the wind.
“He looks like a pirate ship flag, coming in for a landing!”, I chuckled.
Kathy looked up again from her book, “Oh yeah, he does!”
Pauley stops in front of us, eyeing our faces and candy filled grins, “Whatcha laughing about?”
“Oh nothing”, I start to say before Kathy starts talking over me.
“Your hair, flying in the wind”.
“What about it?”, asks Pauley, looking from Kathy to me and back to Kathy.
“Well, Sheena said it…”
“No, I didn’t”, I try to silence Kathy.
Kathy takes her candy out of her mouth and looks directly at me, “Yes, you did”.
“What did Sheena say about my hair?”, asks Pauley looking straight at Kathy.
“Kathy, don’t!”, I plead as I push towards her.
Pauley puts his hand on my shoulder and asks again, “Kathy, tell me about my hair, please?”
Kathy looks serious for a brief moment and then giggles. “She said it looked like the flag on a pirate ship!”, and sticks her candy back into her mouth.
Pauley turns to face me as I try to wriggle free from his hand holding my shoulder.
“Arrgh, Matey, I outta make ye walk the plank for that kinda talk!”
I scream in delight and begin laughing so hard I drop my candy in the grass! Pauley bends over, picks it up, wipes it off and sticks it in his mouth. “Yo ho! A pirate’s life for me!”
“Pauley!” We both gasp at him. Kathy’s laughing and I’m astonished!
Friday, March 10, 2023
Turn Back the Clock and Begin Again (CRW150 - #6)
I really haven’t any brains, you know. And I might have to go into settings to change that… if only I could find my settings. But thus far, it has been a fruitless endeavor. I’m really not sure why, except for the absenteeism brain problem. That seems to be the root of all my issues these days.
You see it all started when I was talking to the saguaro, who was then whispering to the Ocotillo, when the Prickly pear interrupted. Prickly pears are known to be, um, kinda prickly and rude. Next thing you know the saguaro and the Ocotillo have turned away and I am left in an argument with the damnable prickly pear, who’s name is Russ, by the way. It seems that Russ thought I had insulted his violet flower, behind his back. What?! I didn’t even know Russ was even in bloom. Maybe that’s why he was overly sensitive and maybe misheard incorrectly.
Well, one thing leads to another and before ya know it, Russ had slapped my cup of TEECHINO out of my hand! The nerve of that guy! Plus, Pricklys leave little pointy spines behind and the side of my hand was full of them, where he’d made contact. So, I began yelping in pain, stood up, hit my head on an overgrown flowering lantana bush and fell directly into its folds, losing my brain out my biggest ear. Holy Case for Christ!
As I lay limp and wounded, in the yellow and purple hues of the tangled mass of lantana overgrowth, I think I also smacked my left eye because I kept seeing “The Wolves of Winter” approaching me cautiously as their skins covered companion lowered his bow to look me over. But I don’t think this is what Ken Payne had in mind for this statue or maybe I just need to fight my way out of this lantana filled nightmare.
Back on solid ground, I feel fuzzy headed and my left ear is wet, but it doesn’t dawn on me yet that I’m missing a major part of my anatomy. I just feel the pain in my hand and all the funny smelling leaves on my clothes, look down and see my nametag; “Lee Strobel” on my shirt. Guess I forgot to take that off when I got home from working at the HAND SANITIZER Shop.
Darting a quick look to make sure I’m not being followed by Russ, I call my friend, Pablo and ask for a ride to my chiropractor.
“Yes, I know, Pablo, But I think getting in to see my chiropractor will really help me”.
Now, if I could just figure out where I put my phone, as I look at the hand I seem to be talking to.
See what I mean? Losing your mind is one thing, losing your brain is an entirely different situation and really not that much fun either.
Tuesday, February 28, 2023
Great American Quotes - (CRW150 -Post #5)
“Whoever is happy will make others happy too. He who has courage and faith will never perish in misery!” -Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl
Anne Frank wrote this famous quote of hers between 1942-1944, in her diary or on sheets of paper, while she was in hiding with her family in Nazi occupied Germany. She was a young teenage girl, between the ages of 13 to 15 years old when she wrote it and wanted to see the world, become a writer and grow up to do great things with her life.
Things she never got to do because she was a Jewish girl, living in subjugated Germany, under Hitler’s reign of terror. This was a time and place where all Jews were to be exterminated, like cockroaches sprayed with insecticide. A horrifying nightmare, for those who harbored or helped a Jewish friend, neighbor or colleague and would be sent to the gas chambers for their indiscretions.
But young Anne, even in constant fear of being caught and taken away to a concentration camp and separated from her family, never lost hope. She knew there was good in people and wanted to believe that if you have happiness inside of you, this would spread outward to others and buoy them as well. Happiness could catch on and sustain you even in the darkest of times. You could not let fear rule you and must keep that faith, until the very end.
Because Anne was young and relatively inexperienced with worldly troubles, up to this point, she could view life in a singular lens that offered happiness and the goodness of others as a true certainty in individuals. ‘Pressing on’ despite all seems like such a noble cause, until you are actually ‘in the trenches’ and have to put your words into action. (Logos)
Anne didn’t live long enough to bring us to the ‘other side’ with her, so we have to evaluate her character on what she left behind; her writings. And the world she existed in; the museum, online tours of her actual home, her book, the continual findings of pages she has written, even more than seventy years after her death. (Ethos) www.annefrank.org.
There are two takeaways here, one is empathetic for her plight and therefore in awe of what actually occurred to not only Anne and her family but to over six million murdered Jews, not including those non-Jews. The other is that the Holocaust didn’t actually happen and therefore photos and other documents were forged. (Pathos)
However, if you were to believe the second hypothesis, you would also have to swallow quite a lot more, like all those survivors walking around with ugly number tattoos all over their arms. And the similar stories cropping up all over Germany and then spreading like wildfire after the allies went in and began disassembling Hitler’s regime and freeing those still alive in the more than one thousand concentration camps. Take a deeper dive at https://hmh.org/about/25-facts-about-holocaust/ (Kairos)
And despite all this, I feel that young Anne was onto something after all, that happiness can actually be attained and shared. That it should be embraced as a treasured gift and that no matter what our lot in life, we need to strive for courage and faith, even in the face of misery. Because dying without these attributes leaves us nothing but hollow shells, who haven’t even tried to be or do anything noteworthy in our foolishly misspent lives.
Reach for the stars, my friends!
Shosy ^_^
Anne Frank wrote this famous quote of hers between 1942-1944, in her diary or on sheets of paper, while she was in hiding with her family in Nazi occupied Germany. She was a young teenage girl, between the ages of 13 to 15 years old when she wrote it and wanted to see the world, become a writer and grow up to do great things with her life.
Things she never got to do because she was a Jewish girl, living in subjugated Germany, under Hitler’s reign of terror. This was a time and place where all Jews were to be exterminated, like cockroaches sprayed with insecticide. A horrifying nightmare, for those who harbored or helped a Jewish friend, neighbor or colleague and would be sent to the gas chambers for their indiscretions.
But young Anne, even in constant fear of being caught and taken away to a concentration camp and separated from her family, never lost hope. She knew there was good in people and wanted to believe that if you have happiness inside of you, this would spread outward to others and buoy them as well. Happiness could catch on and sustain you even in the darkest of times. You could not let fear rule you and must keep that faith, until the very end.
Because Anne was young and relatively inexperienced with worldly troubles, up to this point, she could view life in a singular lens that offered happiness and the goodness of others as a true certainty in individuals. ‘Pressing on’ despite all seems like such a noble cause, until you are actually ‘in the trenches’ and have to put your words into action. (Logos)
Anne didn’t live long enough to bring us to the ‘other side’ with her, so we have to evaluate her character on what she left behind; her writings. And the world she existed in; the museum, online tours of her actual home, her book, the continual findings of pages she has written, even more than seventy years after her death. (Ethos) www.annefrank.org.
There are two takeaways here, one is empathetic for her plight and therefore in awe of what actually occurred to not only Anne and her family but to over six million murdered Jews, not including those non-Jews. The other is that the Holocaust didn’t actually happen and therefore photos and other documents were forged. (Pathos)
However, if you were to believe the second hypothesis, you would also have to swallow quite a lot more, like all those survivors walking around with ugly number tattoos all over their arms. And the similar stories cropping up all over Germany and then spreading like wildfire after the allies went in and began disassembling Hitler’s regime and freeing those still alive in the more than one thousand concentration camps. Take a deeper dive at https://hmh.org/about/25-facts-about-holocaust/ (Kairos)
And despite all this, I feel that young Anne was onto something after all, that happiness can actually be attained and shared. That it should be embraced as a treasured gift and that no matter what our lot in life, we need to strive for courage and faith, even in the face of misery. Because dying without these attributes leaves us nothing but hollow shells, who haven’t even tried to be or do anything noteworthy in our foolishly misspent lives.
Reach for the stars, my friends!
Shosy ^_^
Tuesday, February 07, 2023
The Moses of Her Day (Post 4 - CRW150)
Harriet Tubman, or Moses as she was oft referred to, was a slight woman, whom one would never suspect of being the instigator or ‘Conductor’ of the “Underground Railroad’.
Tubman, was born in either the year 1820 or 22 in Maryland as a slave, but throughout her ninety-one years she not only managed to accomplish a lot, but ended up dying a free woman.
Tubman was christened Araminta “Minty’ Ross and was one of nine children. Harriet was rented out to a neighbor at age five and then at age twelve, she was hit in the head with an approximate two-pound weight, due to her interjecting herself in the beating of another slave. This injury was left untreated and began her lifelong association with headaches, seizures and narcolepsy.
But Tubman strove to be freed from slavery and to free others along with her, mainly family members. By age twenty-seven, she succeeded in gaining her freedom via the ‘Underground Railroad’, and then went back time and time again to assist others in gaining their own freedom from oppressing slavery.
Assisting her along the way were other abolitionists such as Frederick Douglass, Thomas Garrett and Martha Coffin Wright, who went on to continue this and other work on behalf of slaves and women’s suffrage. It was rumored that Tubman helped over 200 slaves gain passage to freedom, so there was a $40, 000 bounty on her. However, reality may be estimated to be more like 70 plus and a $300 reward from her mistress for the capture of Tubman and her two brothers.
Harriet married twice, changing her name to Harriet, after her mother the first time and was several occupations over her lifetime; a Nurse, Cook, Laundress, Spy, Scout and established a home for the elderly. All in all, Harriet Tubman, was a force to be reckoned with as she helped to transform our world in to a better place.
Thanks for Reading - Let's all be inspired for the month of February ^_^! Take care, Sho
Tuesday, January 31, 2023
WG; ‘Discovering Your Continent’ (CRW150 Blog Post #3)
Doors, I love doors.
I come across one now, as it sits almost hidden in a field of sunflowers.
But I notice a faint outline and wander closer.
I touch it and it feels like the textured surface of a sunflower, yet with softened petals overlaying the surface.
I look down to my left and see a golden bee looking upward towards the sky, transfixed, not moving and realize this must be the door’s handle.
I gently touch it – it feels smooth like polished porcelain and it immediately springs open allowing me to enter.
When I place my foot over the threshold, I notice the air smells sharp, like fresh lavender and the light is a bit dimmer, more of a rosy hue. There are big dragonfly-like insects buzzing around and hummingbirds in slow motion stopping to look at me.
Fuzzy ferns seem to sprout and trail from almost every surface along with a myriad of colorful fluted flowers, with bee faces peeking out of them to watch me slowly walk by on a thick carpet of bright purple grass.
Gravity has seemed to lift in this tepid place as slow motion takes ahold, leaving every movement bigger and longer. But you seem to be able to take in everything all at once, not missing a single detail or nuance.
I can hear roaring like a grizzly close by, but it doesn’t seem to frighten me for some reason.
A ‘whapping’ noise comes from overhead, causing a shadow to appear along with it. I look up, shading my eyes out of instinct, although there doesn’t seem to be a need to here, and slowly begin to see a very large, long billed bird-like creature. It is making its way across the pinkened sky towards a hole in a mound of sorts. There are some letters over the top of the mound that seem to read ‘Th Futur’. Hmm, maybe they don’t like ‘E’s here.
Then the grizzly roaring gets closer and the firefly creatures all turn towards it, causing me to do the same. As we stand there waiting, I can feel the ground tremble a bit. Suddenly, a hairy creature advances from the mist to stand before me. I look up at this somewhat tall creature and ask, “Yeti?”.
To which he replies, “Just Yed”.
“Oh”, I answer “Yed”.
“And you are?” asks Yed.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Shosy. Nice to meet you, Yed”.
“You too, Shosy”, replies Yed.
Wondering what to say or do next, Yed and I just begin to walk together naturally, as if we’ve known one another for a long time. It’s an easy camaraderie and we simply ‘go with the flow’, walking and talking a bit here and there. I ask Yed about himself and the place I’m now at and he, in return asks me about myself and how I got here. Apparently, out of all the flowers in this land, there are no sunflowers, so Yed has never seen one.
But then again, I’ve never met a Yeti up close and personal, nor walked around in apparent slow motion either.
So, I suppose we learn something new every day.
I promise next time I visit, I’ll bring Yed a sunflower.
SL
1/31/23
Sunday, January 22, 2023
The Novelty (Post 2 – CRW150)
There are many things that tag along on a daily basis, struggling to irritate me. I could list them for you, just to give you a run-down. But instead, I’ll simply allude to them and see if you can put your fingers on my meanings, how does that sound? After all, why be so straight forward, when it would be much more fun to puzzle it out a bit. You know, use our noggins.
Endless scraps of papers, taking up room in folders, scrunched at the bottom of bags with no where to go. The writing disappears over time, like faded thoughts of energies well spent. So, what to do with them? Personally, if you know what I’m speaking of, I have a burn day. It’s so satisfying to watch it all go up in smoke!
Then there are continuous electronic trails, leading to everyone jumping on board the runaway conveyance to have their say. After one or two, I’m out, taking the passage going in the opposite direction.
And while it’s sparkling eye candy to peek through all those thoughts and pics on a regular basis, I’d much rather sit and create for a while, to let my mind wander and enjoy the space on the outside of a screen.
However, life in general can be bothersome; debts that need more funds no matter how much you constantly feed them, cars that need expensive new rubber to carry them around on, a patch that’s not supposed to be green yet it’s now overflowing! Call the landscaper and rub off those bills into his gloves.
Don’t forget to renew remedies, so you don’t get ill, and nourish those whiskery mouths before they trample the house apart. These aren’t really hassles but rather responsibilities that can sometimes be a bit of a burden because you are always rushing around like a dervish!
But, for some reason, if we didn’t have little or big things in life to bother us, would we appreciate the calm, peaceful times at all? Would we be able to wander barefoot through slowly dying embers of the firepit just to dare one another? Or scratch a piggy hiney and feel satisfaction? Or lay in a bathtub with no water, just to hear ourselves breathe?
I think not.
I think these are all novelties of my weird, random world, where I endure the inconvenience of miscellaneous displeasures. And I’d not trade it for anyone else’s.
Endless scraps of papers, taking up room in folders, scrunched at the bottom of bags with no where to go. The writing disappears over time, like faded thoughts of energies well spent. So, what to do with them? Personally, if you know what I’m speaking of, I have a burn day. It’s so satisfying to watch it all go up in smoke!
Then there are continuous electronic trails, leading to everyone jumping on board the runaway conveyance to have their say. After one or two, I’m out, taking the passage going in the opposite direction.
And while it’s sparkling eye candy to peek through all those thoughts and pics on a regular basis, I’d much rather sit and create for a while, to let my mind wander and enjoy the space on the outside of a screen.
However, life in general can be bothersome; debts that need more funds no matter how much you constantly feed them, cars that need expensive new rubber to carry them around on, a patch that’s not supposed to be green yet it’s now overflowing! Call the landscaper and rub off those bills into his gloves.
Don’t forget to renew remedies, so you don’t get ill, and nourish those whiskery mouths before they trample the house apart. These aren’t really hassles but rather responsibilities that can sometimes be a bit of a burden because you are always rushing around like a dervish!
But, for some reason, if we didn’t have little or big things in life to bother us, would we appreciate the calm, peaceful times at all? Would we be able to wander barefoot through slowly dying embers of the firepit just to dare one another? Or scratch a piggy hiney and feel satisfaction? Or lay in a bathtub with no water, just to hear ourselves breathe?
I think not.
I think these are all novelties of my weird, random world, where I endure the inconvenience of miscellaneous displeasures. And I’d not trade it for anyone else’s.
Thursday, January 19, 2023
I Am A Writer
I Am A Writer (Post 1 CRW150)
Yes, I can finally acknowledge that I am a writer (mainly a poet, but also a composer of lyrical images put together by strings of words or verses). Do you know I actually read my very first prose poem today and it was enlightening, imaginative, intriguing and exhilarating. To see a poem written in another form, as a paragraph and in a kind of narrative format, was the visual I needed. I can hardly wait to replicate this process in my own writing.
You may not know this about me, but I am a visual person, as well as a tactile individual. I lost my sight a few years ago, for a few months and while it was a learning experience for me personally, I still drew. One of my sons told me my art was actually better when I was blind, to which I found fascinating. I think it may have been either my color choices or my subject matter at the time but not sure which.
Yet to see a poem, in a ‘new’ format (to me) is stimulating. I try to push boundaries all the time with my writing; my poems do not rhyme, I rap in them at times, cuss at certain times, I push words across the page instead of starting [left margin, add several fonts per piece, mix two poems in one…the list goes on. You cannot let your writing grow stagnant, it must grow and change as we do as individuals.
And, I contend my poetry is therapy for my weary soul. It helps eliminate the urinal displeasures from my discontented urethra. And much of it I keep to myself because it simply is not for human consumption. But then there can be Pixie Dust or a rocking chair involved and it may make someone smile, which is a nice feeling.
Contests can and have been won or at the very least honorable mentions have surfaced, but the way you make someone feel is what writing is all about. So, maybe my therapy writing has helped a few along the way as I’ve struggled a bit here and there in my quest for visualizing and feeling my way through the dark.
Because that’s what writers do and I’m a writer.
Yes, I can finally acknowledge that I am a writer (mainly a poet, but also a composer of lyrical images put together by strings of words or verses). Do you know I actually read my very first prose poem today and it was enlightening, imaginative, intriguing and exhilarating. To see a poem written in another form, as a paragraph and in a kind of narrative format, was the visual I needed. I can hardly wait to replicate this process in my own writing.
You may not know this about me, but I am a visual person, as well as a tactile individual. I lost my sight a few years ago, for a few months and while it was a learning experience for me personally, I still drew. One of my sons told me my art was actually better when I was blind, to which I found fascinating. I think it may have been either my color choices or my subject matter at the time but not sure which.
Yet to see a poem, in a ‘new’ format (to me) is stimulating. I try to push boundaries all the time with my writing; my poems do not rhyme, I rap in them at times, cuss at certain times, I push words across the page instead of starting [left margin, add several fonts per piece, mix two poems in one…the list goes on. You cannot let your writing grow stagnant, it must grow and change as we do as individuals.
And, I contend my poetry is therapy for my weary soul. It helps eliminate the urinal displeasures from my discontented urethra. And much of it I keep to myself because it simply is not for human consumption. But then there can be Pixie Dust or a rocking chair involved and it may make someone smile, which is a nice feeling.
Contests can and have been won or at the very least honorable mentions have surfaced, but the way you make someone feel is what writing is all about. So, maybe my therapy writing has helped a few along the way as I’ve struggled a bit here and there in my quest for visualizing and feeling my way through the dark.
Because that’s what writers do and I’m a writer.
Wednesday, October 12, 2022
This Place...
I love this place, this page.
It's where I come for comfort and rest.
The pages draw me - they settle my fractured heart
and let me breathe deeply again.
I'm surrounded by the quiet, those
I love and enjoy,
and can concentrate on the feelings of freedom and free-thinking
in a universe that grows smaller and smaller
by the minute.
Thank you for striding by quietly, as I sit deep
in my thoughts,
writing down my heart,
breathing in the fresh air.
And listening to bird symphonies
above me.
SL10/12/22
It's where I come for comfort and rest.
The pages draw me - they settle my fractured heart
and let me breathe deeply again.
I'm surrounded by the quiet, those
I love and enjoy,
and can concentrate on the feelings of freedom and free-thinking
in a universe that grows smaller and smaller
by the minute.
Thank you for striding by quietly, as I sit deep
in my thoughts,
writing down my heart,
breathing in the fresh air.
And listening to bird symphonies
above me.
SL10/12/22
Tuesday, September 20, 2022
I see you
I see you there,
you are not alone.
Although you may think you...
Days call forth nights,
the moon rises and peeks out from behind its curtain of clouds to
see the expanse of its worldly possessions.
And relax in its cradle of star dotted skies.
Sighing deeply, because it knows this only lasts a few hours.
A few sweet, silent hours until the blaze of sun hits the horizon
with its infernal glory and colorful pastels.
Then birds begin to chirp and sounds start up in the distance,
announcing the dawn of a new day.
Unfolding the warmth of daylight and the end of darkness and silence.
The moon tucks itself back into the recesses from where it comes,
waiting for another sparkling twilight to begin,
another tear dropped sky to welcome him.
And the sight of you, along the way.
SL 9/20/22
Thursday, May 10, 2018
I entered a Bookmark Contest!
I entered a Bookmark contest and this is what was included;
a) my Bio
b) my original artwork for the bookmark.
So, now we'll see what happens and if it's chosen to be reprinted - if I win or not.
I have to admit it would be cool if it is chosen - to see my bookmarks hanging around the library and people using them! I would have to 'use' a few ofcourse when I checked out books!
The bio goes onto the back - hoping if mine is chosen it all fits - as the word count added up to just over 100 words, not counting spaces, etc.
So, we'll see - I have been inspired lately to go beyond and think outside my normal boundaries; push myself a little bit. Life is brief and we must explore ourselves within it while we are able.
With my three piggies at home; Shaggy, Scooby and Lottie Polka Dottie - I am learning to be more than I am; to love more, feel more, think more and just relax and enjoy those tiny moments as I snap pics of them to put captions to before posting to their IG accounts.
I am constantly inspired - but the fatigue wears me down a lot more than it used to. So, I grab the moments when I am able. Just being honest here. I love to create and I am not a 'crafter' either. I am an artist that loves to create - whatever enters my realm. Usually I work with dolls - making them One Of A Kind (OOAK). But occasionally I deal with paper or paint, as in this instance.
And this was the result -
Take care & God bless all your efforts,
Shosy Z
(On Instagram, Facebook & You Tube)
a) my Bio
b) my original artwork for the bookmark.
So, now we'll see what happens and if it's chosen to be reprinted - if I win or not.
I have to admit it would be cool if it is chosen - to see my bookmarks hanging around the library and people using them! I would have to 'use' a few ofcourse when I checked out books!
The bio goes onto the back - hoping if mine is chosen it all fits - as the word count added up to just over 100 words, not counting spaces, etc.
So, we'll see - I have been inspired lately to go beyond and think outside my normal boundaries; push myself a little bit. Life is brief and we must explore ourselves within it while we are able.
With my three piggies at home; Shaggy, Scooby and Lottie Polka Dottie - I am learning to be more than I am; to love more, feel more, think more and just relax and enjoy those tiny moments as I snap pics of them to put captions to before posting to their IG accounts.
I am constantly inspired - but the fatigue wears me down a lot more than it used to. So, I grab the moments when I am able. Just being honest here. I love to create and I am not a 'crafter' either. I am an artist that loves to create - whatever enters my realm. Usually I work with dolls - making them One Of A Kind (OOAK). But occasionally I deal with paper or paint, as in this instance.
And this was the result -
Shosy Z
(On Instagram, Facebook & You Tube)
Thursday, October 19, 2017
Family...
This is the place where I can dump all my thoughts - about life.
And today is no exception.
Yesterday, 10/18/17, my ex-brother-in-law, made a personal visit to me at my job, just to let me know my aunt had passed away and been found that morning. Robert is my cousin's boyfriend and he was thoughtful enough to tell me this news in person, because Cyndi was so shaken herself - she couldn't even gather her own thoughts at that point.
I can only imagine - losing both of my own biological parents when I was in my thirties and my dearest stepdad when I was only 19... it changes you. Makes you feel alone even more so.
Strips off a layer of strength and exposes vulnerability before calluses begin forming.
My Aunt was our family historian - I could ask her anything about anybody in our family. She was full of independence, spunk and said what she felt. Couth was not her strong point, but fun was and she had a lot of it in her brief 72 years. Heartache, spirit and fun.
Now she's singing and dancing - full and fresh - on the other side of this life, in a place I like to call
'Home'.
Say 'Hi' to everyone for me, Aunt Jean - see you sometime soon ^_^
Love, Sho
And today is no exception.
Yesterday, 10/18/17, my ex-brother-in-law, made a personal visit to me at my job, just to let me know my aunt had passed away and been found that morning. Robert is my cousin's boyfriend and he was thoughtful enough to tell me this news in person, because Cyndi was so shaken herself - she couldn't even gather her own thoughts at that point.
I can only imagine - losing both of my own biological parents when I was in my thirties and my dearest stepdad when I was only 19... it changes you. Makes you feel alone even more so.
Strips off a layer of strength and exposes vulnerability before calluses begin forming.
My Aunt was our family historian - I could ask her anything about anybody in our family. She was full of independence, spunk and said what she felt. Couth was not her strong point, but fun was and she had a lot of it in her brief 72 years. Heartache, spirit and fun.
Now she's singing and dancing - full and fresh - on the other side of this life, in a place I like to call
'Home'.
Say 'Hi' to everyone for me, Aunt Jean - see you sometime soon ^_^
Love, Sho
Tuesday, March 21, 2017
You'll Be Missed, Monday My Friend
He left me this past Sunday, March 19, 2017.
The day was too much for him - restless, crying out at times due to pain...
Finally just after 3pm, I awoke to a disheartening thump and cry.
He was lying twisted on the walkway heading to my bathroom, panting.
I cradled his head in my right hand and soothed him,
"It's okay, Dede, you can go on to Heaven."
"It's time for you to go and find Mags and Sammy and those brothers of yours".
"And wait for me honey - I'll be there soon, okay?"
I barely got the words out before he took his final breath.
He was gone.
I untwisted his thin, long body, brushing his beautiful striped fur with my hand.
And then I got my mum's stethoscope to make sure his heart wasn't still beating.
His left eye looked glazed already.
And his pupils were fixed - his was still as, well death.
His only evacuation had been a little dribble from his mouth
because he had used his litter, like a gentleman, a bit earlier.
I caressed his dear ears and noticed his tail had blown up as if he was in fight mode.
A type of distress.
My poor baby.
I had raised him from about 5 weeks old or so til he was here - almost eleven years.
He dined on milk from an eyedropper, along with his three brothers;
Huckleberry, Sawyer, and Siegfried. They had been found in a neighbors pile of backyard junk - abandoned by their mama. And Monday was the last to be caught that weekend, starting from Friday, Saturday and finishing up on - you got it!
Not knowing if they even had eyes because their sockets were so enflamed with pus and goo -
I cleaned them one by one, after hearing the first one - Siegfried, whom I refer to even today as 'Head'.
Sig is the only one of the bunch left - the only remaining survivor now.
Sawyer and Huckleberry have long since passed away - not sure of what exactly, when they were each 3 years old.
And now Monday is gone - from a broken heart most likely.
His hero, Jack left and found a new woman and animals. And I firmly believe somehow Monday, being so extremely sensitive, knew he was never coming back, so he just gave up.
But I will miss his sassiness and his climbing up any unattended ladder he found. I'll miss his figure eights around my legs when I was in the kitchen - driving me nuts! And his demanding cries any time I closed my door, to let him in my room. I'll even miss his itchy whiskers on my nose when I was trying to sleep.
And try not to cry myself to sleep from missing him too much.
Love you Monday, my friend, my Dede!
The day was too much for him - restless, crying out at times due to pain...
Finally just after 3pm, I awoke to a disheartening thump and cry.
He was lying twisted on the walkway heading to my bathroom, panting.
I cradled his head in my right hand and soothed him,
"It's okay, Dede, you can go on to Heaven."
"It's time for you to go and find Mags and Sammy and those brothers of yours".
"And wait for me honey - I'll be there soon, okay?"
I barely got the words out before he took his final breath.
He was gone.
I untwisted his thin, long body, brushing his beautiful striped fur with my hand.
And then I got my mum's stethoscope to make sure his heart wasn't still beating.
His left eye looked glazed already.
And his pupils were fixed - his was still as, well death.
His only evacuation had been a little dribble from his mouth
because he had used his litter, like a gentleman, a bit earlier.
I caressed his dear ears and noticed his tail had blown up as if he was in fight mode.
A type of distress.
My poor baby.
I had raised him from about 5 weeks old or so til he was here - almost eleven years.
He dined on milk from an eyedropper, along with his three brothers;
Huckleberry, Sawyer, and Siegfried. They had been found in a neighbors pile of backyard junk - abandoned by their mama. And Monday was the last to be caught that weekend, starting from Friday, Saturday and finishing up on - you got it!
Not knowing if they even had eyes because their sockets were so enflamed with pus and goo -
I cleaned them one by one, after hearing the first one - Siegfried, whom I refer to even today as 'Head'.
Sig is the only one of the bunch left - the only remaining survivor now.
Sawyer and Huckleberry have long since passed away - not sure of what exactly, when they were each 3 years old.
And now Monday is gone - from a broken heart most likely.
His hero, Jack left and found a new woman and animals. And I firmly believe somehow Monday, being so extremely sensitive, knew he was never coming back, so he just gave up.
But I will miss his sassiness and his climbing up any unattended ladder he found. I'll miss his figure eights around my legs when I was in the kitchen - driving me nuts! And his demanding cries any time I closed my door, to let him in my room. I'll even miss his itchy whiskers on my nose when I was trying to sleep.
And try not to cry myself to sleep from missing him too much.
Love you Monday, my friend, my Dede!
Wednesday, March 01, 2017
He Moved On...
He moved on…
Coming in
with happier eyes,
he put his finger to his lips;
didn’t want to spoil the surprise.
he put his finger to his lips;
didn’t want to spoil the surprise.
When she
couldn’t find him,
she went outside looking for his truck
and the dogs –
she went outside looking for his truck
and the dogs –
What she found
was the dogs’ previous owner.
'Camille', she called herself,
Jumping from the cab, hugging her and talking
a mile a minute.
'Camille', she called herself,
Jumping from the cab, hugging her and talking
a mile a minute.
“He wanted
to tell you in person”
“Is there anything I should know?”
“…just want your blessing”
“Is there anything I should know?”
“…just want your blessing”
‘Camille’
already had her mind made up.
She had her dogs back, a warm body to cling to during the cold nights,
and someone to feed her; protect her.
She had her dogs back, a warm body to cling to during the cold nights,
and someone to feed her; protect her.
She walked
away, stunned, not sure what she said or
didn’t say.
Just to go and find him.
didn’t say.
Just to go and find him.
He was
leaning against the counter,
deep in thoughts made up of eleven years of memories.
When he turned to look at her, they all showed and played
across the span between them.
deep in thoughts made up of eleven years of memories.
When he turned to look at her, they all showed and played
across the span between them.
Goodbye will
never be uttered, but it was felt,
even as her tears melted in the backs of her eyes.
And his reassurances of being best friends rang in her ears.
even as her tears melted in the backs of her eyes.
And his reassurances of being best friends rang in her ears.
Being left
is so entirely solitary that one never fails to recall
the sensation.
SL
(no G) 3/1/17the sensation.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
It's Been 15 Years This Month, Mum...
Fifteen years since I picked up a phone call from you.
It feels like yesterday, yet when I look at pictures or see myself in the mirror,
I know it's been so very long.
A lifetime seems to have come and gone
without you in it -
how could that have happened? How could we have been so
brazen to have walked away from you.
It's been fifteen years since I heard the words "I love you more".
And I can't tell you how much I muss you and always will, my little mommy.
Until I see you again, my one and only dearest...
It feels like yesterday, yet when I look at pictures or see myself in the mirror,
I know it's been so very long.
A lifetime seems to have come and gone
without you in it -
how could that have happened? How could we have been so
brazen to have walked away from you.
And I can't tell you how much I muss you and always will, my little mommy.
Until I see you again, my one and only dearest...
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
July
Ya know this has been a month - July has.
Instead of promise, it has been full of failure, I think.
First Gizmo passed, after almost two decades of being a constant in my life - quietly watching history play out for me.
Then one week later I lose Max, my Albino bunny - so friendly with his 'whisker kisses' when I would feed him orange leaves off the tree his hutch sat under. Another week passed and his bunk mate 99, a soft, dessert looking, sensitive fellow died as well. Was it from the heat too or from missing Max too much?
The ducks were given away - because they kept picking on the chickens. But arguably that was in June.
Josh get into an accident on Zach's birthday - with us in the car, because some drunken fool runs a stop sign on private property.
I am brushing more and more fur off of Sig...
Meanwhile Jack's MRI scans are 'lost' and now we find out there are three nodules instead of only one.
There are more questions than answers - piling up like dirt at a construction site.
I am not sleeping a whole lot - just resting, which is good.
But I am more tired than I was 5 years ago.
Where is energy?
Zach has lost too much weight now - he is emaciated looking because he is afraid to eat - it will bring on the pain. The pain his doctor says is in his head, but his shrink says isn't.
What a bunch of bull#*%@!
Doctors belive they are mini gods and that everything that will be discovered has been. Well, that is not the truth at all and it just shows their humanness.
A doctor killed my mom.
And countless doctors are responsible daily for other lives; negative and positive.
Be informed - never take another person's word completely.
We are all simply people - some just have more knowledge and experience in different areas. but we are all fallible and make mistakes and can continue to learn and grow.
So, back to this month - the month of July, when my son was born 30 years ago. He was beautiful and another blessing in my life. I already had a firstborn son, so now I had two and I felt so grounded and mature at 21. I was home with my children - they made me grow up and made me feel like I was important, needed and actually supposed to be their mom.
When in reality I was young, kinda stupid and still doing a lot of growing up. But at least I had these small souls to help me; shape me and make me give of myself more than I ever would have if they had been absent from my life.
Thank you. And love you - all of you for that.
So, yea July sucked this year - but not all of it - there were bright, shining moments filled with Zach and Josh; two people I really adore as much as they'll let me.
In my heart I love them more.
Instead of promise, it has been full of failure, I think.
First Gizmo passed, after almost two decades of being a constant in my life - quietly watching history play out for me.
Then one week later I lose Max, my Albino bunny - so friendly with his 'whisker kisses' when I would feed him orange leaves off the tree his hutch sat under. Another week passed and his bunk mate 99, a soft, dessert looking, sensitive fellow died as well. Was it from the heat too or from missing Max too much?
The ducks were given away - because they kept picking on the chickens. But arguably that was in June.
Josh get into an accident on Zach's birthday - with us in the car, because some drunken fool runs a stop sign on private property.
I am brushing more and more fur off of Sig...
Meanwhile Jack's MRI scans are 'lost' and now we find out there are three nodules instead of only one.
There are more questions than answers - piling up like dirt at a construction site.
I am not sleeping a whole lot - just resting, which is good.
But I am more tired than I was 5 years ago.
Where is energy?
Zach has lost too much weight now - he is emaciated looking because he is afraid to eat - it will bring on the pain. The pain his doctor says is in his head, but his shrink says isn't.
What a bunch of bull#*%@!
Doctors belive they are mini gods and that everything that will be discovered has been. Well, that is not the truth at all and it just shows their humanness.
A doctor killed my mom.
And countless doctors are responsible daily for other lives; negative and positive.
Be informed - never take another person's word completely.
We are all simply people - some just have more knowledge and experience in different areas. but we are all fallible and make mistakes and can continue to learn and grow.
So, back to this month - the month of July, when my son was born 30 years ago. He was beautiful and another blessing in my life. I already had a firstborn son, so now I had two and I felt so grounded and mature at 21. I was home with my children - they made me grow up and made me feel like I was important, needed and actually supposed to be their mom.
When in reality I was young, kinda stupid and still doing a lot of growing up. But at least I had these small souls to help me; shape me and make me give of myself more than I ever would have if they had been absent from my life.
Thank you. And love you - all of you for that.
So, yea July sucked this year - but not all of it - there were bright, shining moments filled with Zach and Josh; two people I really adore as much as they'll let me.
In my heart I love them more.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
I say to myself, more than anyone.
One person can change the world.
Many have tried and many have succeeded.
You have to keep trying.
Oftentimes we get caught up in our lamentations and simply want to lie in them awhile and lament. We get pushed around by pain, by humans hurting us, by not taking control of our own selves.
That is o.k. for a time, but then we need to get out there and try again.
With or without those that would cheer for you.
If you know it is right, then you must do it, no matter what anyone else thinks or says.
Oftentimes our journey is individual, not as a team endeavor. Many of our achievements are not noticed or applauded.
But that does not make them of any less consequence.
So, walk the paths you have chosen - we must, and suffer the consequences of those choices as well. But these are choices - made with or without thought. Made rashly, in the heat of the moment or made with careful consideration.
Either way, one person can make a difference for not only themselves but for countless others.
So, we must not only choose wisely, but we must keep on trying and enduring.
For what is life, if not a gift to succeed and fail, fail and succeed?
It was given freely - will we make the best of it? Make the most of it?
It's over too fast to wallow in self-destructive behavior or self-pity.
It's like a gift that can be used over and over again. It never gets old or outdated.
Always waiting for its' owner to do something new with it.
Never judging us for leaving it on a shelf for a time and then remembering to come back to it and use it again.
One life, one person, one success - it all interconnects to something magnificent.
Many have tried and many have succeeded.
You have to keep trying.
Oftentimes we get caught up in our lamentations and simply want to lie in them awhile and lament. We get pushed around by pain, by humans hurting us, by not taking control of our own selves.
That is o.k. for a time, but then we need to get out there and try again.
With or without those that would cheer for you.
If you know it is right, then you must do it, no matter what anyone else thinks or says.
Oftentimes our journey is individual, not as a team endeavor. Many of our achievements are not noticed or applauded.
But that does not make them of any less consequence.
So, walk the paths you have chosen - we must, and suffer the consequences of those choices as well. But these are choices - made with or without thought. Made rashly, in the heat of the moment or made with careful consideration.
Either way, one person can make a difference for not only themselves but for countless others.
So, we must not only choose wisely, but we must keep on trying and enduring.
For what is life, if not a gift to succeed and fail, fail and succeed?
It was given freely - will we make the best of it? Make the most of it?
It's over too fast to wallow in self-destructive behavior or self-pity.
It's like a gift that can be used over and over again. It never gets old or outdated.
Always waiting for its' owner to do something new with it.
Never judging us for leaving it on a shelf for a time and then remembering to come back to it and use it again.
One life, one person, one success - it all interconnects to something magnificent.
Friday, October 01, 2004
Happy October!
This font is called 'Georgia' - in a nod to you, Zachy. I just finished Directing a play for a local community theatre. The play was "Get Smart"- based on the 1960's sitcom. My son, Zach played the lead - Maxwell Smart (agent 86). He was terrific! It started out to be an extremely enjoyable experience. The actors were so fun - they constantly made me laugh out loud!
I miss those early days of freedom and exploration.
It all turned negative though, in the end - when the artistic director didn't take my creative and artistic views seriously. She was greedy and wanted to 'play by the rules' instead of allowing the production to flow. She rampaged at me and threatened me. She did to me what was done to her earllier by another person in charge of her endeavor. Are we destined to imitate what we are shown - without any thought to the defeating outcome? It's a shame when we have to be stiffled because of our talents and beliefs.
After all, we have to be true to ourselves.
We have to be true to our vision.
We have to create because we feel the need, the drive to create.
It's out of our control - we are the vehicles through which the creative process flows and spills out onto those surrounding us.
Hopefully, it is always a positive process.
Hopefully it makes someone smile. Or think. Or inspire.
And be thankful.
That's all I can ask from any of my pieces of art - whether they be one of my poems, my drawings, my calmly or even funkily decorated home, my directing or other form of expression in theatre (hair, makeup or costume design), and finally through my sons. They are grown now and I pray that others will see the shining face of God through their efforts.
Those are the only things that really matter.
Take care, Sho ^_^
I miss those early days of freedom and exploration.
It all turned negative though, in the end - when the artistic director didn't take my creative and artistic views seriously. She was greedy and wanted to 'play by the rules' instead of allowing the production to flow. She rampaged at me and threatened me. She did to me what was done to her earllier by another person in charge of her endeavor. Are we destined to imitate what we are shown - without any thought to the defeating outcome? It's a shame when we have to be stiffled because of our talents and beliefs.
After all, we have to be true to ourselves.
We have to be true to our vision.
We have to create because we feel the need, the drive to create.
It's out of our control - we are the vehicles through which the creative process flows and spills out onto those surrounding us.
Hopefully, it is always a positive process.
Hopefully it makes someone smile. Or think. Or inspire.
And be thankful.
That's all I can ask from any of my pieces of art - whether they be one of my poems, my drawings, my calmly or even funkily decorated home, my directing or other form of expression in theatre (hair, makeup or costume design), and finally through my sons. They are grown now and I pray that others will see the shining face of God through their efforts.
Those are the only things that really matter.
Take care, Sho ^_^
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