httpeastgwillimburywowblogspot

The Woven Tale Press

(c) copyright 2013

4

Editor Sandra Tyler

Author of Blue Glass a New York Times Notable Book of the Year and After

Lydia published by Harcourt Brace awarded MFA in writing from Columbia

University creative writing professor freelance editor judge of Stony Brook

Universityrsquos national annual fiction contest

Visit her blog at httpwwwawriterweavesatalecom

4

Editor Sandra Tyler

Author of Blue Glass a New York Times Notable Book of the Year and After

Lydia published by Harcourt Brace awarded MFA in writing from Columbia

University creative writing professor freelance editor judge of Stony Brook

Universityrsquos national annual fiction contest

Visit her blog at httpwwwawriterweavesatalecom

5

Editorrsquos Note

The Woven Tale Press is a monthly culling of the creative blogging web ndash

too many well-conceived and artful blog posts are relegated to their archives too soon

So enjoy here an eclectic mix of the literary humorous innovative and visual arts ndash blog posts ephemeral

meant to be indelible

If you like particular posts click on their URLs to visit the actual blogs

To submit a post go tohttpwoventalepresscom

1

He tells me itrsquos my birthday ldquoYoursquore 26 todayrdquo the husband says

I pop some aspirin rub a cranky ankle ldquoHmm Allegedlyrdquo It is my birthday yes And I love birthdays they are the fairest of all holidays Because we all get one The Jewish kids pining for a Christmas tree Even Mars getting all pitiful on Earth Day like ldquoWhat about merdquo

Birthdays obliterate barriers Regardless of time or date or species everybody got here somehow So we celebrate the showing up the arrival the start of something or someone good

You see I dispute the number the years I was born because as wersquove estab-lished everyone is Also today I fear this will not be the year I get my age just right I am Benjemima Button

For as long as I can remember Irsquove been old At nine I sat lanky-legged on my grandmotherrsquos fancy living room floor listening with much understanding to the various woes of the women Which kid is acting out now Who knew divorce was so expensive Are we out of wine No part of me felt the difference of years among us With all the confidence of a short white Maya Angelou Irsquod tell this aunt or that cousin just what my wise little mind thought My unfortunate Mickey Mouse sweatshirt or squeaky voice may have spoken to my smallness but their big ears seemed to listen

By high school I had a keen interest in turtleneck sweaters I fake-sipped beer fearing the old indigestion would flare up My body for all its blessed elasticity and tan glow said fifteen My soul said ldquoTell that friend you canrsquot come to the party this weekend Act like yoursquore grounded Find fuzzy socks and watch lsquoDesigning Womenrsquordquo

I tried to go through the cheerleading nervous dating young-and-free

httptorinelsonwordpresscom

The Curious Caseof Benjemima BuTTon

2

teen transitions But my heart was elsewhere I sneakily devoured hours of Oprah I thought short hair was less bouncy but more aerodynamic and prac-tical

Today I enjoy early bedtimes watching birds doing bird-like things and joint-health supplements I cordially decline most invitations from fellow twen-ty-somethings but in my head Irsquom ranting and raving about those ldquodamn kidsrdquo with their ldquohoodlum boom-boom musicrdquo

It isnrsquot bad to be young It isnrsquot bad to be perpetually older than yourself ei-ther Irsquom ridiculously well-rested and well-versed in all things water aerobics related Plus Irsquove been spared the bad bits of youth the gossip the trying desperately to fit in the glitter

But what Irsquove wanted for every birthday is just to wake up with a number that fits and perhaps this is the year Irsquom reaching an equilibrium of sorts I went to a party I refrained from telling those young punks to take their grimy feet off the couch and from asking where they were when Kennedy was shot I real-gulped a real beer Irsquom recently infatuated with The Twitter and Irsquom half-proud to admit I kind of loved Justin Bieberrsquos song about the girl and the Dubstep and the whatchamacallit See I just said Dubstep Benjemima be hipper by the minute

Maybe at 27 Irsquoll say ldquoHmm Yes That onersquos just rightrdquo

Maybe not

Maybe at 90 when my peers are asking the staff nurse to sponge a little lower Irsquoll be squeezing into that sequinned tube-top ready to bar dance

and get all kinds of ldquocrunkrdquo and ldquocrayrdquo

Maybe that nasty cobwebby image was completely unnecessary because age doesnrsquot matter so much as the most basic principle of birthdays You werenrsquot This one day came along Then you

were

Irsquoll toast my Metamucil to that

3

httpthinkinginsomniacwordpresscom

Visual reCipe ndash Cheddar BisCuiTs

4

When yoursquore feeling discouraged consider the bumblebee Years ago I read about a group of engineers who ldquoprovedrdquo that the bumblebee was aerodynamically incapable of flight ndash it shouldnrsquot be able to get off the ground

Of course no one told the bumblebees this Every summer they fly happily about my garden doing whatever it is they feel they must do They donrsquot know they arenrsquot sup-posed to be able to fly that their behavior contravenes the laws of aerodynamics so dearly believed in by a certain group of humans who do ldquoknowrdquo that they shouldnrsquot be able fly at all

Consider too that bumblebees perform the very necessary task of pollinating our trees and flowers Without them the world would be in trouble Hurray for bumblebees

Now ask yourself how much of what we feel we cannot do is the result of our believing that we cannot do it or of being afraid of the risk involved Charles Lindbergh said lsquoldquoDonrsquot believe in taking unnecessary risks but a life without [any] risk isnrsquot worth liv-ingrdquo I say ldquoGo for itrdquo

B for BumBleBee

httpjustgoodstoriesweeblycom

Swinging

Sammies

5

I love fire The way it dances and sways can flicker on a candlewick The way it romances a log in a campfire First the sensuous like a falling silk scarf Then the embrace that tightening of flames licking around the edges until the passion ignites

My engagement with fire started when I was twelve I was as typical as any oth-er boy at that age I would go to the members-only club which required a secret handshake and look at girlie magazines with my buddies But then I would wan-der off looking for ants to burn with my super-secret spy magnifying glass

During a search for insects to torture by fire I thought it would be something to move up to higher forms of life from lowly insects I wandered through a field looking for the right stick One dried and cracked the easiest to light afire

As a preteen boy my thought process wasnrsquot always on consequences Well it was never on consequences At that age what kidrsquos is When I found the stick and applied magnified sun rays to it the stick burst into flames so fast I burnt my finger and dropped the stick I panicked and blew on the flame Dumb thing to do

As the fire snaked toward me I was mesmerized I watched it slither side to side my focus zeroing in on the flame

I watched it reach my shoes slip around their sides and up the soles

With enough force to snap my head forward I was suddenly yanked away from the flame My neck muscles complained My chin bounced off my chest and my teeth were mashed into my cheek The metallic flavor of blood flooded my mouth I spit out a piece of flesh

ldquoJesus are you all rightrdquo a man asked while hauling me upright and turning me to face him ldquoI ainrsquot never saw no one get hit by a veehickle I thought you was gonners for surerdquo

I stared at him

ldquoMisterrdquo he said and began brushing me off ldquoWhy drsquoyou just sit there Ya couldrsquove been afire in no time Lucky for you I sawed the whole thangrdquo He

Buried Alivehttpwwwglendonperkinscom

6

stopped brushing me off Holding me at armrsquos length he asked ldquoYarsquoll rightrdquo

It was a good question I wasnrsquot sure if I was Irsquove been buried alive hit by a truck had a conversation with a woman long deceased A woman that managed to save me from sure death By all rights I should be dead Yet I wasnrsquot

ldquoYeah Irsquom finerdquo I wasnrsquot but I didnrsquot want to risk an explanation

Sirens in the distance

ldquoWhy jusrsquo sit der with the fire acomingrdquo He fished around in his shirt pocket pulled out a stick of gum stuck it in his mouth and put the wrapper back in his pocket

His face was pale his hair white contrasting with his black button-up shirt The top two buttons were open wiry white hairs poked out He looked around seventy years old

ldquoI guess I was a bit dazed I didnrsquot notice the fire But Irsquom doing better now Thanks to yourdquo

ldquoYa better get tuh the old sawbones for look seerdquo he said his mouth working the gum

I studied his face for a minute I thought I recognized him but I couldnrsquot figure out where it might have been Hell I didnrsquot even know where I was He probably just had one of those familiar faces Yethellip

ldquoIrsquom surprised you can stanrsquordquo He took the wrapper out waded the gum into it and tossed everything in the street ldquoI can chew too long Stick to muh teethrdquo

Tires screeched sirens screamed Police cars were pulling to a halt and fire trucks rumbling through followed by two ambulances

ldquoI think we better move away and let these folks do their jobrdquo I said looking back at the old man But he wasnrsquot there

I searched the area

He was gone

(This is part of a series Go to the blog Url to see what happens next)

7

I walked into my dying grandmotherrsquos makeshift bedroom my newborn in my arms My three-year-old daughter had run down the hallway ahead of me On my grandmotherrsquos nightstand were prescription bottles vitamins supplements a full-spectrum light for treating seasonal affective disorder and all sorts of salve cream tubes and canisters for sore body parts

This is the legacy of my women This is what we pass down to one another

Winter is the worst Irsquoll see people on television living in Hawaii fishing for a living They play tiny instruments in the sand and watch the sun set while children run around They have so much space and so much sun I am a dark tanner I turn as brown as a chestnut given the chance I say to Kurt ldquoThese people must live until they are one hundred and threerdquo

He was sleeping of course pale and limp in the armchair Going to work every day is harder when there is no sun no warmth Everything is

Sometimes I long for sleep at three in the afternoon I fantasize about stretching out

iT sTings my eyes and hurTshttpwwwlastmomonearthcom

forgoTTen fooTsTeps ndash TripTyCh

on upCyCled Board

httpwwwcomingabstractionsblogspotcom

7

I walked into my dying grandmotherrsquos makeshift bedroom my newborn in my arms My three-year-old daughter had run down the hallway ahead of me On my grandmotherrsquos nightstand were prescription bottles vitamins supplements a full-spectrum light for treating seasonal affective disorder and all sorts of salve cream tubes and canisters for sore body parts

This is the legacy of my women This is what we pass down to one another

Winter is the worst Irsquoll see people on television living in Hawaii fishing for a living They play tiny instruments in the sand and watch the sun set while children run around They have so much space and so much sun I am a dark tanner I turn as brown as a chestnut given the chance I say to Kurt ldquoThese people must live until they are one hundred and threerdquo

He was sleeping of course pale and limp in the armchair Going to work every day is harder when there is no sun no warmth Everything is

Sometimes I long for sleep at three in the afternoon I fantasize about stretching out

iT sTings my eyes and hurTshttpwwwlastmomonearthcom

forgoTTen fooTsTeps ndash TripTyCh

on upCyCled Board

httpwwwcomingabstractionsblogspotcom

8

luxuriating under the comforter as soon as my husband is home from work I never do though When itrsquos late and itrsquos finally time to lie down and sleep I hum with dark energy worrying and staring through the separation in the curtains at the streetlight Freezing air radiates from the walls My bed is pushed into a corner and I feel like a fine fish with a wide glassy eye Someone has opened the freezer door looking for something other than me

The winter in my heart causes sickness I get headaches if I read for too long I read entire books over a Sunday afternoon Sometimes I just sit and watch the cars out the picture window in our little dark living room Everything is the same in winter We do the same things every day we brush against the same doorways We walk the same footsteps to the car and back Wersquove seen all of the exhibits at the museums a thou-sand times We donrsquot even really look anymore We just go there because we need to move our legs The air is recycled and dry It stings my eyes and hurts my throat There are no great adventures

I memorize the lilt of the light through the tiny stained-glass window at the very top of the front door It wavers on the stairs like water Red and orange and yellow like a keyhole into somewhere warm and dead somewhere tea is served at noon in mis-matched saucers There are cakes and fine linens and there is grass growing all around

This many-layered (at least 12) triptych is made from three ldquoupcycledrdquo boards I rescued from a demolition site When I saw the contractors throwing everything away I knew I had to grab some of these shiny hard particle boards for my art

I sanded each board then brushed on layers of gesso and modeling paste before adding several glazes of color I then threw down some silverbronze powder and added some graphite and worked into it with markersThis piece reminds me of a map mixed with raindrops skies and oceans with a few mountains thrown in for good measure

httpwwwcomingabstractionsblogspotcom

9

Angel Wings

Acrylic on cAnvAs

httpwwwcomingabstractionsblogspotcom

10

the yawning mouth of the river It gathers desire expectation and disappointment into a single current

It binds me into a place where my stomach growls and my throat swells Hope is a jailer whose prison pretends to sunshine It holds out bright open spaces and blinding joy but it denies revelry It builds its box one ray at a time until the light is painful It burns me until my skin is scalded Hope is every childhoodrsquos nightmare It is the feeling of running away from the monster down the street of faceless houses It is the cer-tainty of escape that crashes against the pursuing evil rounding that final corner It leaves me wandering close to home hopelessly lost unable to arrive

Hope is a trolling lover It exploits It runs alongside and suddenly lifts but then snatches itself away at the archrsquos apex It offers itself but withholds consummation It decimates me but teases offering to rebuild only to pull back again at the climax

I would prefer to carry my life forward hopeless to live without expec-tation and dwell in the small moments

But I am not that kind

I look forward carried up on a swell of broken glass all sharp edges and shining promises I prognosticate and play at the meteorology of emotion I try to predict myself so that when hope pulls back and burns I can control my fall and tumble back into contentment

hope is httpjesterqueencom

11

Supplies Acrylic paints

graphite willow charcoal

Sharpie oil markers and india ink

Mid-way point light gray and buff acrylic with char-coal graphite and india ink

Therersquos something about painting multiple works at a time that inspires and excites me I recently opened a package of ten 10rdquox 8rdquo canvases laid them out on my dining room table grabbed some supplies and started painting with wild abandon

Works in progress

httpwwwcomingabstractionsblogspotcom

12

Added some Nickel Azo Gold with dots and lines made with the Sharpie oil marker

Put down some Lukas Fern acrylic

paint for some finishing accent color

10 Finished Paintings

13

I am equal parts introvert dreamer hunter warrior and detective I am a writer I will-ingly spend an exorbitant amount of time inside my mind catching sunbeams and chasing shooting stars Where my creative alter-ego goes I follow She and I the we in me set sail and fill the blank page in pursuit ndashas a hunter tracks a dreamer dreams a warrior conquers a detective resolves ndash of the story

My brain is ambidextrousToday the right side is creating while the left side sifts through raw material that passes through the viaducts on a daily basis Later Lefty will edit and cull the story while Righty inventories the spoils mined earlier By defini-tion the writer in me is a natural scavenger

I am hawk-eyed gliding through the days diving deep within or watching patiently from the sidelines for tidbits worth plucking for my narratives To see the world through my writerrsquos eyes is to observe the play of glittering light on the diamondrsquos multi-faceted surface transmitting 24times7 onto any exterior in spitting distance What a non-writer dismisses I capture and describe catalog and treasure Alone or in a crowd I stand guard with my pen and pad In line at the local barista or seated in a folding chair at the waterrsquos edge I see what can be

Two people standing on a London platform waiting for a Brussels-bound train One is a writer the other is not The non-writer wearing dark glasses climbs onto the train relieved to be away from a chatty toddler bouncing like a rubber ball behind him The writer watches him board She turns the dial of her sensory receptors to high and boards the train To the outside world she looks like every other traveler She wears her jeans well but they are an inch too long and the hems catch at the back of her heels Shersquos proud of her tattered appearance Her red cotton V-neck t-shirt is faded from age and the black zip-up-the-front sweatshirt she borrowed from Ian the strang-er she took to bed in Dublin is tied loosely around her hips

She stops midway down the aisle smiles at the pear-shaped woman whose toddler is bouncing up and down on the seat The young motherrsquos pursed lips relax and curve slightly at their outermost edges A bead of sweat drips off the womanrsquos chin landing squarely on the larynx cruises south is swallowed between her voluptuous breasts The writer continues walking down the aisle until she finds 15B a window seat She offers to trade places with the twenty-something in 15A the non-writer sporting avia-

a WriTer Wondershelliphttpwwwbrendamoguezcom

13

I am equal parts introvert dreamer hunter warrior and detective I am a writer I will-ingly spend an exorbitant amount of time inside my mind catching sunbeams and chasing shooting stars Where my creative alter-ego goes I follow She and I the we in me set sail and fill the blank page in pursuit ndashas a hunter tracks a dreamer dreams a warrior conquers a detective resolves ndash of the story

My brain is ambidextrousToday the right side is creating while the left side sifts through raw material that passes through the viaducts on a daily basis Later Lefty will edit and cull the story while Righty inventories the spoils mined earlier By defini-tion the writer in me is a natural scavenger

I am hawk-eyed gliding through the days diving deep within or watching patiently from the sidelines for tidbits worth plucking for my narratives To see the world through my writerrsquos eyes is to observe the play of glittering light on the diamondrsquos multi-faceted surface transmitting 24times7 onto any exterior in spitting distance What a non-writer dismisses I capture and describe catalog and treasure Alone or in a crowd I stand guard with my pen and pad In line at the local barista or seated in a folding chair at the waterrsquos edge I see what can be

Two people standing on a London platform waiting for a Brussels-bound train One is a writer the other is not The non-writer wearing dark glasses climbs onto the train relieved to be away from a chatty toddler bouncing like a rubber ball behind him The writer watches him board She turns the dial of her sensory receptors to high and boards the train To the outside world she looks like every other traveler She wears her jeans well but they are an inch too long and the hems catch at the back of her heels Shersquos proud of her tattered appearance Her red cotton V-neck t-shirt is faded from age and the black zip-up-the-front sweatshirt she borrowed from Ian the strang-er she took to bed in Dublin is tied loosely around her hips

She stops midway down the aisle smiles at the pear-shaped woman whose toddler is bouncing up and down on the seat The young motherrsquos pursed lips relax and curve slightly at their outermost edges A bead of sweat drips off the womanrsquos chin landing squarely on the larynx cruises south is swallowed between her voluptuous breasts The writer continues walking down the aisle until she finds 15B a window seat She offers to trade places with the twenty-something in 15A the non-writer sporting avia-

a WriTer Wondershelliphttpwwwbrendamoguezcom

14

tor glasses and plugged into his mp3 player He slides over to the window seat pulls his SF Giants cap down over his eyes looks up and offers to buy her a drink once the train leaves the station She sinks into the warmed seat delighted She slips the note-book and pen out of the bag and waits for possibility to come walking by

Writers accept that this is part of the madness of being a writer We watch We listen We document We hoard lifersquos snippets as an extreme couponer clips coupons For the most part wersquore content living large in our respective minds The longer the writ-er writes the deeper the roots burrow until they twist and curl around the bones and veins of the writer There is no escaping this fate not that a writer desires freedom A writer accepts this without question I know I did I didnrsquot question my destiny but when I had my ah-ha moment and accepted my calling I did wonder and have as-sumed others like me had the same questions How did I get this way And are there others out there like me

httpimagesbyduffeecom

15

In Summerville Gathere is Howard Finsterrsquos four acres called Paradise Gardens Finster made art out of what most people would throw away He painted on old wood scraps and was also a con-crete and mosaic master

masTer of sCrap arT

httphappymrscblogspotcom

16Hubcap Tower

17

When I close my eyes I see my older sister standing beside a meadow still patchy with snow A camera dangles from her hand Shersquos gazing up at a cloudless blue sky

She turns to me grins and aims her camera I try to smile but my eyes are burning from the snowrsquos glare The light is blinding My breath is shallow in the thin air as if Irsquom breathing in broken glass

That meadow is at the top of Bearrsquos Tooth Pass in Montana where we used to hike Her ashes now drift across that meadow I remember smoothing the white hospital sheets that covered her cold body and thinking of that snow

So many nights like this one when the moon is full shersquod steal me from sleep for a drive along the beach Irsquod curl up beside her my head on her shoulder and watch the stars race past the car windows silver glitter scattered across a velvet-black sky

I had always thought she was racing against the moon And I never knew why

My sister would escape into a world of beauty and grace behind the lens of her cam-era Into prisms of light in a drop of water clinging to a rose petal the gilded intricacy of a spiderrsquos web at sunrise a monarch butterfly dipping its black curled tongue into the well of a flower I see her now in the hazy dreams of midnight where hundreds of photographs fan across the years capturing memories that linger like our jumping in knee-deep puddles ndash knowing how silly we looked two grown women dancing in mud-dy water embracing the fury of a storm

flying WiTh The eagleshttpmjrockbottomblogspotcom

17

When I close my eyes I see my older sister standing beside a meadow still patchy with snow A camera dangles from her hand Shersquos gazing up at a cloudless blue sky

She turns to me grins and aims her camera I try to smile but my eyes are burning from the snowrsquos glare The light is blinding My breath is shallow in the thin air as if Irsquom breathing in broken glass

That meadow is at the top of Bearrsquos Tooth Pass in Montana where we used to hike Her ashes now drift across that meadow I remember smoothing the white hospital sheets that covered her cold body and thinking of that snow

So many nights like this one when the moon is full shersquod steal me from sleep for a drive along the beach Irsquod curl up beside her my head on her shoulder and watch the stars race past the car windows silver glitter scattered across a velvet-black sky

I had always thought she was racing against the moon And I never knew why

My sister would escape into a world of beauty and grace behind the lens of her cam-era Into prisms of light in a drop of water clinging to a rose petal the gilded intricacy of a spiderrsquos web at sunrise a monarch butterfly dipping its black curled tongue into the well of a flower I see her now in the hazy dreams of midnight where hundreds of photographs fan across the years capturing memories that linger like our jumping in knee-deep puddles ndash knowing how silly we looked two grown women dancing in mud-dy water embracing the fury of a storm

flying WiTh The eagleshttpmjrockbottomblogspotcom

18

And the birds She had an encyclopedic knowledge of every species For years she healed the injured ones and fostered the larger birds of prey The eagles and hawks were her favorites she photographed them sketched them and I think deep down wanted to be like them Fierce beautiful strong and free

My sister had an eating disorder She had been killing herself slowly and I hadnrsquot stopped her I didnrsquot know how No one did She wore her loneliness like a heavy winter coat and I stood by helpless as those sparkling green eyes dimmed to gray A storm was raging but she was no longer dancing in its rain Something had broken insider her She became like the wounded birds she once cared for

19

I never should have gone to see her the day I was sick It never occurred to me that the insidious germs I carried would attack her weakened immune system She fell ill shortly after I saw her but refused to go to the doctor I should have pushed begged driven her there myself I did nothing

When the call came I raced to the hospital down darkened streets the moon spinning past my window shield and wondered if she remembered its pale yellow face peering above the oceanrsquos rim so long ago on those drives along the beach

She was already in the dark sleep of a coma I touched her cool hand felt her standing at the foot of the mountain

Monitors then screamed their flatline goodbyes A stained-glass Jesus mocked me from the window above her hospital bed and I wanted to smash it I lay there adrift beside her for hours the white tiles of the hospital floor cold against my cheek like snow Like the brisk air that had stung my face on top of Bearrsquos Tooth Pass where I knew she had gone Where she had taken flight like the eagles

At her funeral my eulogy painted a false picture of her life so that everyone could leave the church believing she had died a blessed woman I was a hypocrite because I knew far better than that She had been dying inside for years And no one had tried to save her I had hidden the truth even from myself because I was too cowardly to feel the depth of her pain

An autopsy report claimed she died from pneumonia with a heart three times its nor-mal size Obesity does that I prefer to think her heart was large because she loved so much

On the morning after she died a Red-Tailed Hawk circled back through my yard and settled on the pine branches above me I looked into his dark unwavering gaze and saw my sister watching me

Her ashes now swirling over a snowy mountaintop in Montana will never settle Theyrsquoll twist inside my grieving heart until I feel the last breath of winter

20

In hindsight it was not an atypical spring Friday in Park Place Virginiarsquos favorite li-brary athletic shoes and outfits had been reclaimed from the back of closets and bot-tom drawers The initially bizarre but then familiar buzz of a distant lawnmower cut the breeze only to be undermined by some newly license-bestowed adolescent deciding that a particular song was worth a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar noise violation citation Ah yes the renewed spirit of the season was ushering in a new harvest of opportuni-ties

The police officer was bored as this was his third tour of our quaint facility since the temperatures had begun to mature in this Ides of March He stood in the doorway of my tiny dimly-lit office requisite black-flip spiral notebook in hand staring blankly over my shoulder as I worked through military-timed camera locations

This time a small brawl had broken out in the public computer area and my trick to spotting the aggressors on camera is always to first locate myself in the melee ndash usu-ally directing women and children away from the brawl Hunched over I scrutinized the tape I could not ascertain my own whereabouts But who was that short bald guy run-ning onto the scene like that Where did he get off controlling the crowd in that man-ner before I had gotten there I froze the frame mid-punch The bald guy adjusting his glasses with his head cocked to the sidewas me

ldquoOfficer Jamesrdquo I shouted

ldquoFound him sir You know his namerdquo

ldquoTurn on the lightsrdquo

ldquoSirrdquo

ldquoLook dude chill on all the lsquosirrsquo crap for a minute and cut the light on manrdquo

Click

Cautiously I raised my hands to my head as if there were a foreign scorpion ready to strike at the slightest waft I caressed my crown with a touch only rivaled by the one on my newly born sonrsquos head some years later

The healing poWer of leTTing gohttpleeyonardcom

19

I never should have gone to see her the day I was sick It never occurred to me that the insidious germs I carried would attack her weakened immune system She fell ill shortly after I saw her but refused to go to the doctor I should have pushed begged driven her there myself I did nothing

When the call came I raced to the hospital down darkened streets the moon spinning past my window shield and wondered if she remembered its pale yellow face peering above the oceanrsquos rim so long ago on those drives along the beach

She was already in the dark sleep of a coma I touched her cool hand felt her standing at the foot of the mountain

Monitors then screamed their flatline goodbyes A stained-glass Jesus mocked me from the window above her hospital bed and I wanted to smash it I lay there adrift beside her for hours the white tiles of the hospital floor cold against my cheek like snow Like the brisk air that had stung my face on top of Bearrsquos Tooth Pass where I knew she had gone Where she had taken flight like the eagles

At her funeral my eulogy painted a false picture of her life so that everyone could leave the church believing she had died a blessed woman I was a hypocrite because I knew far better than that She had been dying inside for years And no one had tried to save her I had hidden the truth even from myself because I was too cowardly to feel the depth of her pain

An autopsy report claimed she died from pneumonia with a heart three times its nor-mal size Obesity does that I prefer to think her heart was large because she loved so much

On the morning after she died a Red-Tailed Hawk circled back through my yard and settled on the pine branches above me I looked into his dark unwavering gaze and saw my sister watching me

Her ashes now swirling over a snowy mountaintop in Montana will never settle Theyrsquoll twist inside my grieving heart until I feel the last breath of winter

20

In hindsight it was not an atypical spring Friday in Park Place Virginiarsquos favorite li-brary athletic shoes and outfits had been reclaimed from the back of closets and bot-tom drawers The initially bizarre but then familiar buzz of a distant lawnmower cut the breeze only to be undermined by some newly license-bestowed adolescent deciding that a particular song was worth a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar noise violation citation Ah yes the renewed spirit of the season was ushering in a new harvest of opportuni-ties

The police officer was bored as this was his third tour of our quaint facility since the temperatures had begun to mature in this Ides of March He stood in the doorway of my tiny dimly-lit office requisite black-flip spiral notebook in hand staring blankly over my shoulder as I worked through military-timed camera locations

This time a small brawl had broken out in the public computer area and my trick to spotting the aggressors on camera is always to first locate myself in the melee ndash usu-ally directing women and children away from the brawl Hunched over I scrutinized the tape I could not ascertain my own whereabouts But who was that short bald guy run-ning onto the scene like that Where did he get off controlling the crowd in that man-ner before I had gotten there I froze the frame mid-punch The bald guy adjusting his glasses with his head cocked to the sidewas me

ldquoOfficer Jamesrdquo I shouted

ldquoFound him sir You know his namerdquo

ldquoTurn on the lightsrdquo

ldquoSirrdquo

ldquoLook dude chill on all the lsquosirrsquo crap for a minute and cut the light on manrdquo

Click

Cautiously I raised my hands to my head as if there were a foreign scorpion ready to strike at the slightest waft I caressed my crown with a touch only rivaled by the one on my newly born sonrsquos head some years later

The healing poWer of leTTing gohttpleeyonardcom

20

In hindsight it was not an atypical spring Friday in Park Place Virginiarsquos favorite li-brary athletic shoes and outfits had been reclaimed from the back of closets and bot-tom drawers The initially bizarre but then familiar buzz of a distant lawnmower cut the breeze only to be undermined by some newly license-bestowed adolescent deciding that a particular song was worth a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar noise violation citation Ah yes the renewed spirit of the season was ushering in a new harvest of opportuni-ties

The police officer was bored as this was his third tour of our quaint facility since the temperatures had begun to mature in this Ides of March He stood in the doorway of my tiny dimly-lit office requisite black-flip spiral notebook in hand staring blankly over my shoulder as I worked through military-timed camera locations

This time a small brawl had broken out in the public computer area and my trick to spotting the aggressors on camera is always to first locate myself in the melee ndash usu-ally directing women and children away from the brawl Hunched over I scrutinized the tape I could not ascertain my own whereabouts But who was that short bald guy run-ning onto the scene like that Where did he get off controlling the crowd in that man-ner before I had gotten there I froze the frame mid-punch The bald guy adjusting his glasses with his head cocked to the sidewas me

ldquoOfficer Jamesrdquo I shouted

ldquoFound him sir You know his namerdquo

ldquoTurn on the lightsrdquo

ldquoSirrdquo

ldquoLook dude chill on all the lsquosirrsquo crap for a minute and cut the light on manrdquo

Click

Cautiously I raised my hands to my head as if there were a foreign scorpion ready to strike at the slightest waft I caressed my crown with a touch only rivaled by the one on my newly born sonrsquos head some years later

The healing poWer of leTTing gohttpleeyonardcom

21

httpeastgwillimburywowblogspot

ldquoJameshellipam Ihellipis it hair growing right up in here man Am I baldingrdquo

A hot second passed ldquoLittle bitrdquo Radio chatter ldquoThatrsquos a 24 Wersquore good hererdquo Then he said ldquoSohellipcan you run me a copy sirrdquo

Once home that night I grabbed a hand mirror and saw the truth ndash on my crown and temples I was one of them those guys and knew I would have to continue to fight the inevitable or embrace it for what is was and shave it all off Down to the follicle I chose the latter I let it go

George Jefferson never let it go Yoda Larry from the Three Stooges and Gandhi nev-er let it go They hung in there refused the facts and persevered Good for them

A few more are yet holding on like David Beckham and Sean Connery But then there are others who continue to try and continue to fail They need to let it go Donald Trump Prince William Art Garfunkel Fail Enrique Iglesias Bishop Eddie Long Robert Deniro itrsquos time Nicholas Cage Hulk Hogan Let It Go

Because letting it go works ndash I am possibly the most handsome sexiest and most beautiful male specimen reflected in windows I pass on any busy downtown avenue I am confident cute and as bald-headed as I can be Because I let it go

Porch windows

22

Altered barn windows

Greenhouse windows

WindoWs

Water in canal makes wonky reflection in boathouse windows

23

is of the tiger ninja moth I donrsquot know whether this is an actual real moth species but I think it is a very accurate description of the moth Irsquom talking about The species out to get me

We were in the middle of gutting our cabinrsquos bathroom and literally did not have a pot to p_ _ in We were replacing the old pink cast iron tub with a modern one-piece shower unit

The problem was that the shower unit would not fit through the bathroom doorway

My husband got the brilliant idea to bring it in through the bedroom window but that meant he had to take out the glass Yes it was a bit of a job but he did get the shower through the window and into the bathroom

But there was not enough daylight left to reinstall the window glass And when my hus-band left that night he mistakenly forgot to turn off his work light in the bathroom

Like a moth to a flame people

The next day the place was infested with moths I told my husband I was not moving in until all the moths were dead and gone

Moving day came My husband assured me that he had gone on a mass killing spree and eradicated what was left of the moths from our cozy cabin Like the sap I some-times am I believed that he had super-duper-moth-killing powers

I was wrong For more nights than I want to ever remember I was attacked by moths I say moths plural because they worked in pairs to torment me ndash either right before I got into the shower or right as I got out Once I was attacked while answering the call of nature on the commode I had to stop mid-stream and run screaming from the bath-room

They were cunning They were clever They were huge ugly spotted fury smart sneaky sadistic tormentors They were tiger ninja moths

httpcozycabinnewswordpresscom

one of my BiggesT fears

23

is of the tiger ninja moth I donrsquot know whether this is an actual real moth species but I think it is a very accurate description of the moth Irsquom talking about The species out to get me

We were in the middle of gutting our cabinrsquos bathroom and literally did not have a pot to p_ _ in We were replacing the old pink cast iron tub with a modern one-piece shower unit

The problem was that the shower unit would not fit through the bathroom doorway

My husband got the brilliant idea to bring it in through the bedroom window but that meant he had to take out the glass Yes it was a bit of a job but he did get the shower through the window and into the bathroom

But there was not enough daylight left to reinstall the window glass And when my hus-band left that night he mistakenly forgot to turn off his work light in the bathroom

Like a moth to a flame people

The next day the place was infested with moths I told my husband I was not moving in until all the moths were dead and gone

Moving day came My husband assured me that he had gone on a mass killing spree and eradicated what was left of the moths from our cozy cabin Like the sap I some-times am I believed that he had super-duper-moth-killing powers

I was wrong For more nights than I want to ever remember I was attacked by moths I say moths plural because they worked in pairs to torment me ndash either right before I got into the shower or right as I got out Once I was attacked while answering the call of nature on the commode I had to stop mid-stream and run screaming from the bath-room

They were cunning They were clever They were huge ugly spotted fury smart sneaky sadistic tormentors They were tiger ninja moths

httpcozycabinnewswordpresscom

one of my BiggesT fears

24

And they were impossible to smash The only way to get rid of them was with the shop vac once they were sucked up I would plug up the end of the hose (tiger ninja moths do not go down easy)

One evening I was getting ready to shower and I spotted one hiding on the side of the bathroom medicine cabinet This one was clever It was the ninja in him

My husband approached it with the shop vac I was cowering behind him and my daughter blocked the bathroom doorway so it could not escape

Then Ninja Moth moved It flew all around my head I started screaming flapping my arms like a mad woman It was not gonna get me I dodged and ducked My husband was trying to calm me down but I wasnrsquot having any of it I pushed him back jumped over the shop vac knocked my daughter out of the doorway and ran hysterically into the other room

When I was able to hear over the sound of my wildly beating heart I realized my hus-band was yelling in some really colorful language I had pushed him back so hard he had lost his balance and fallen backward into the shower

Well when tiger ninja moths are after me he should know better than to get in my way

25

The yelloW TurTleA toy at my motherrsquosrsquos house is having a bit of an identity crisis Itrsquos a yellow turtle shape sorter that sports a rather fetching blue hat not too dissimilar to those of navy officers

Frequently we may find it with its shell off and going for random walks around my motherrsquos living room or lounging on the sofa watching TV Itrsquos not too unusual to see the turtle without his shell After all shells are quite heavy right

What was unusual though is what happened one day last week

Little Z playing as he normally does came running to me asking for a piece of bread After persuading him to eat a chicken sandwich I relented and gave him some bread and he ran off happilyShortly afterwards I went to see if Little Z had eaten his bread and was ready for lunch And thatrsquos when I made the discovery The turtle behaving a bit oddly As if it were a duck Same expression same smilehellipbut act-ing like a duck

Little Z sat on a chair obliging this identity crisis by throwing bits of bread to the turtle The turtle seemed to be enjoying this new experience of being fed like a duck at a park

The two were having such a good time I stopped short of telling off Little Z for throwing bits of bread all over the carpet Instead I suggested that perhaps his friend was not whom he was claiming to be ldquoLittle Z thatrsquos not a duck Its a turtlerdquo

Little Z in full support of his little friend simply retorted ldquoItrsquos a duck Duck go Meck Meck Meckrdquo

ldquoUmmmhellipyou mean Quack Quackrdquo

ldquoNohellipMeck Meck Meckrdquo

Hmmm

httpnotmyyearoffcom

25

The yelloW TurTleA toy at my motherrsquosrsquos house is having a bit of an identity crisis Itrsquos a yellow turtle shape sorter that sports a rather fetching blue hat not too dissimilar to those of navy officers

Frequently we may find it with its shell off and going for random walks around my motherrsquos living room or lounging on the sofa watching TV Itrsquos not too unusual to see the turtle without his shell After all shells are quite heavy right

What was unusual though is what happened one day last week

Little Z playing as he normally does came running to me asking for a piece of bread After persuading him to eat a chicken sandwich I relented and gave him some bread and he ran off happilyShortly afterwards I went to see if Little Z had eaten his bread and was ready for lunch And thatrsquos when I made the discovery The turtle behaving a bit oddly As if it were a duck Same expression same smilehellipbut act-ing like a duck

Little Z sat on a chair obliging this identity crisis by throwing bits of bread to the turtle The turtle seemed to be enjoying this new experience of being fed like a duck at a park

The two were having such a good time I stopped short of telling off Little Z for throwing bits of bread all over the carpet Instead I suggested that perhaps his friend was not whom he was claiming to be ldquoLittle Z thatrsquos not a duck Its a turtlerdquo

Little Z in full support of his little friend simply retorted ldquoItrsquos a duck Duck go Meck Meck Meckrdquo

ldquoUmmmhellipyou mean Quack Quackrdquo

ldquoNohellipMeck Meck Meckrdquo

Hmmm

httpnotmyyearoffcom

26

27

At University I am required to study a module called Design Theory form in art and design through pattern and its underlying structural frameworks

Our assignment was to complete a ldquocollection of designs which tile plane without gap or overlaprdquo We needed to create twelve patterns or tiling ndash elements cut or drawn from a regular polygon six designs from a square then six from either an equilateral triangle or hexagon

I initially created a mood-board of images that were to inspire my pattern designs I researched African tribes their culture dress art huts and jewelery I love their vivid bold color schemes and striking angular shapes especially of their costumes and huts

After collecting these inspirational images I picked my six colors for the palette of my twelve pattern designs I cut both a square and hexagon into unequal parts and went about creating my patterns using Adobe Illustrator This was extremely mind taxing and made my eyes go a bit funny looking at the patterns for too long Once I had produced all six designs after very long hours spent staring at a screen I selected one of my pat-terns and showed my intended final-end use

I intended my pattern designs for childrenrsquos printed teepees in which the designs would be digitally printed onto cotton canvas The bold prints would be appealing for a childrsquos play teepeefun and eye catching for both indoor and outdoor purposes

Although this project was very time consuming I am really pleased with my final de-signs

design Theory prinTed paTTerns

httpwwwfaceinfashioncom

27

At University I am required to study a module called Design Theory form in art and design through pattern and its underlying structural frameworks

Our assignment was to complete a ldquocollection of designs which tile plane without gap or overlaprdquo We needed to create twelve patterns or tiling ndash elements cut or drawn from a regular polygon six designs from a square then six from either an equilateral triangle or hexagon

I initially created a mood-board of images that were to inspire my pattern designs I researched African tribes their culture dress art huts and jewelery I love their vivid bold color schemes and striking angular shapes especially of their costumes and huts

After collecting these inspirational images I picked my six colors for the palette of my twelve pattern designs I cut both a square and hexagon into unequal parts and went about creating my patterns using Adobe Illustrator This was extremely mind taxing and made my eyes go a bit funny looking at the patterns for too long Once I had produced all six designs after very long hours spent staring at a screen I selected one of my pat-terns and showed my intended final-end use

I intended my pattern designs for childrenrsquos printed teepees in which the designs would be digitally printed onto cotton canvas The bold prints would be appealing for a childrsquos play teepeefun and eye catching for both indoor and outdoor purposes

Although this project was very time consuming I am really pleased with my final de-signs

design Theory prinTed paTTerns

httpwwwfaceinfashioncom

28