To be honest I couldn’t find anything I felt worthy of readdressing. My mood is dark as is my future. I no longer think clearly or have the ability to read a book or watch a simple television show without seeing and thinking of all that was taken from me and what I will never experience again. And to aggravate me and wear my patience my cat will not stop crying. He meows over and over, louder and louder. Do you think he speaking for me? Crying the tears when I’m too lost to cry for myself?
To walk to the edge
Of the darkness
To lean
To peer
To try and see what lies beyond
Taking one step
One step over
Flying free
Released from hurt
Free falling
Falling free
Never to come back
“We read to know we’re not alone.” -William Nicholson, Shadowlands
I read everyday. It’s not unusual for me to read one book in two days. I read because I am alone. I am always alone. Except for the group I meet with three times a week, I see no one and I talk to no one.
Isolation is not a good thing but it is an addictive thing. It creeps up on you unexpectedly. One day turns to two and two turns into three and before you know it a week, a month goes by.
I never intended to be in this place of loneliness. This deep, dark well of drowning sadness. Someone born without a soul stole mine. And I won’t steal someone’s soul because I no longer have one. That is cruel and evil.
Everyday gets more difficult. Everyday is longer than the last. Everyday I think it will be my last.
10 pm: Bedtime
Toss and turn unable to get comfortable but my time was coming and I only had to wait until morning.
6 am: The alarm rings. I am awake because I never really fell asleep. I shake my husband out of his dreams and tell him we are due to arrive no later than 7 am.
6:15 am: A quick shower, get dressed, check my bag and tell my husband it is almost time to leave.
6:30 am: I call my parents and let them know we are leaving soon and to check on my daughter. She is still sound asleep.
6:40 am: It is still dark outside since it is a July day. The heat is stifling even at this hour. Though freshly showered, I can feel the sweat begin to bead and roll down my neck. I should have brought something to pull my hair back.
6:45 am: We leave for the short 15 minute drive.
7:00 am: I am dropped off and taken by wheelchair upstairs. My husband joins me as soon as he parks.
7:15 am: All checked in, ready to go but still apprehensive. This is my second time and just like last time I didn’t begin on my own. I needed help.
7:30 am: Dr. gives me a visit. Checks the pitocin drip. Contractions have begun. The Dr. guesses the baby will weigh between 7 and 8 pounds.
10:00 am: I ask for a pain reliever. Nurse gives me something but fails to tell me it is short term and won’t last more than 15 minutes.
10:15 am: Nurse suggests I make a bathroom run because she thinks it will be a long day.
10:30 am: Return to bed and tell nurse I need to push. She says there is no way because I wasn’t ready. I disagreed with her and said I NEED to push. Asked for more painkiller and was told it was too late.
11:05 am: Beautiful baby girl is born and I hear a round of applause. Putting my glasses on I realize there is a sea of faces in the birthing room. It was student nurse day and they just “happened” to stop in. Dr. guesses my new daughter weighs 9 lbs 13 oz. Official weight 10 lbs. Very good guess.
*** Lesson learned and shared with all mothers-to-be: If you do not want unexpected visitors in the birthing room, when you take your hospital tour and fill out paperwork ask if it is a teaching hospital and you want to specify you do not want students in your room. Every mother-to-be has been so happy I shared from my experience.
I went slightly over but I can never remember if one and two letter words count towards the total.
56 years of living a lie
Believing without questioning
You’re not enough
You won’t win
You prove how smart you are
You will do something and I will leave
No longer seeing your reflection
The spark, the joy smothered by words
Someone takes your hand at 56 years
They wipe away the hurt, the emptiness
They plant the seed of belief
Belief that you are enough
Belief you will win
Belief you are worthy of love
Belief you will never be abandoned
Belief in tomorrow
Have you ever read a book that is timeless? I believe Poldark is just that.A book written in the 1940s about life in the late 18th and early 19th centuries in Cornwall, England. The struggles faced then are as relevant as the ones we face today. Ross Poldark is a soldier just returning home from a war which was lost. He learns not only has the love of his life, Elizabeth agreed to marry his wealthy cousin Francis but his father is dead and his small estate in ruin.
Heartbroken Ross pours himself into his farm and reopening the mine on his land. Unlike his cousin Francis and his wife Elizabeth, Ross was never separated apart from the people on his father’s land. He grew up with the sons of the miners. They were his friends despite the huge difference in their social status. Ross’s experience in the war has given him a clearer perspective on life and the injustices he sees everyday in Cornwall and England.
Miners are forced to poach game to keep their families from starving while the gentry live a life of luxury which is paid for on the backs of the workers, the miners. Justice is only justice if it serves the gentry well because while they say all are equal before the law, that is not how it is actually carried out.
Ross finds himself torn between what he knows in his heart is right and what the people of his class tell him is right. It is the unexpected love and faith he finds in a young girl, a miner’s daughter, that helps Ross find his way.
He stumbles. He fails. He succeeds. He’s torn between love for two women. He carries on doing his best.
Aren’t these the same challenges we face today? The divide between the rich and poor growing. The idea that some are born to succeed and others to fail. Aren’t we struggling to find true justice in our court systems? Not justice for some but justice for all? Aren’t we fighting for education, jobs and the disenfranchised? Aren’t we working to save the men and women who return from war some broken and scarred changed forever? For soldiers who can’t find employment and face poverty? Aren’t we seeking our voice and our right to be heard even if we are poor or a minority or just the plain forgotten?
When Winston Graham published Poldark, World War II had just ended. His country was facing the very same challenges Ross faced when he returned from fighting the American War of Independence. The only difference is Britain won WWII and lost the AmericanRevolution but the returning soldiers faced the same fights as Ross did 150 years earlier. And now in the 21st century we are facing our biggest battle, the fight of ideology. Will we win this world war of terrorism imposed by the few on the many?
This is absolutely my favorite book series and I hope you find the time to read not just Poldark but all twelve books.
I never thought we would be apart for so many years. It seems like only yesterday we were young mothers raising our children. Struggling to make ends meet. Somehow we always managed to find the fun and humor in every day. But where have the years gone? When I look at you I see the same, sparkling young woman I met almost 30 years ago. You have the same spirit, creativity and joy for life. Now you are securely planted with a family of one husband, five children, four in-laws, nine grandchildren, a variety of pets and two spectacular homes. There is no one I’ve ever met that deserves happiness more than you do.
Me you ask? My life took an entirely different path than your own. I do have two lovely children and one son-in-law but I’ve lost everything else. My husband left me. I lost my home. I lost my friends. I lost my community. I lost all security. I even lost my faith for awhile. I lost my desire to see another day.
Why didn’t you know? Because you never asked. I don’t blame you. When a life is as full and rich as your’s is, time goes by quickly, like a flash of lightening. When life is broken and empty as mine is, time feels like a loud ticking clock. With each movement of the hand, it reminds you life is passing by and you don’t get a second chance. I don’t know if I don’t reach in for life enough or if when I do life spits me out. Honestly it feels like the second one.
I hope dear friend that we don’t go years without talking or seeing each other. I love you and always will.
Paris-War-Then-Now
How we wish people would change. Surely over the centuries mankind has learned valuable lessons so we would not be doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over. Evidently not. Demelza Poldark, a character in the Winston Graham Poldark Series, was faced with war and attack in Paris. The story might be fictional but it is placed amongst real history.
Paris was living and experiencing freedom when Demelza arrived in the early 19th century. France had been opressed by the Monarchists, abused by Napolean’s war machine obsessed with total Domination and Paris was caught in the crossfire of beliefs. Sadly this wasn’t the first time Paris would find itself at the center of men’s thirst for power. War would and will find Paris again.
Demelza does the best she can under the circumstances. She must leave to stay safe but her heart broke to leave Ross behind.
Sadly in the 21st century Paris finds itself at the center of a war again. Islamic terrorists chose the city of light for brutal attacks against innocent people. Cowardice kills the innocent and unarmed. There nothing courageous about planning and executing people while you hide behind masks and believe you will spend eternity in paradise.
As Americans we cannot ignore our own war for independence in the late 1700s was supported by France which enabled us to win the revolution. Then they went on to fight their own long battle for Égalité,Fraternité and Liberté. Courage, real courage is found in the people who continue to live their lives, standing firm against this cowardice. Courage is being brave enough to open your doors to the oppressed, the hungry, the poor, the persecuted. Demelza always courageous, reaching out to help those in need and we must continue to reach out and be courageous in face of this terrorism.
A hand gripped her heart, squeezing, refusing to let go. Her only choice was to grab the bottle of Xanax. It would be the only way she would be able to get through this evening. An evening surround by her old life, her old friends with the reminder this would never be hers again.
The bride a woman who was taking a step down that unknown path of marriage. All this woman could see is the red headed baby girl she helped welcome into the world. Escorted down the aisle by her parents, the parents who were friends but had abandon this lonely guest when the divorce happened.
The reception. The unexpected on slaught of faces which she doesn’t remember. Wondering how after all this time they could remember her, her name but their faces, their names held no place in her memory. Having to explain that no she was no longer married and seeing faces full of pity and shock when she said her ex was an alcoholic and sexual predator, which left her with no option but divorce. Explaining homelessness was just months away.
Left alone at the table as happy couples dance, a stabbing reminder she is on the outside. An untouchable now, no longer part of any plans for the future. No happiness or joy in her future.
The wine, followed by more wine mingling with the Xanax to create a sense of who gives a damn, certainly not this unloved woman. Faces across the room she longed to see, to speak to but knew the importance of remaining in her seat. They had the need to shield themselves from the truth of her pain and their failure to be there when she needed them.
The casual promises to stay in touch, knowing they were empty words. Feeling the emptiness in a room full of people, full of love and full of life. How can someone be so alone when surrounded by so many? A mirage, nothing but the timeless illusion couples go through only to find life isn’t a happily ever after tale. It’s a path full of road blocks, potholes, turns and yes sometimes unexpected joy or unexpected heart break.
The wedding. The people. The love. The emptiness. The mirage. Life.
I have too much free time in my life right now and should spend more time writing but I spend a lot of time reading for pleasure and also to review on my book blog Daphne’s Booklist. So you can find me at Half Price books at least once a week.
I meet three times a week with a support group.
And after discovering The Great British Sewing Bee, my love of sewing has been renewed which means taking some classes to get my skills back up to snuff.
Since the major life shift three years ago, I’ve not done much. It’s only been in the last few months I’ve began to engage in life again.
Tiny prints free Holiday cards
Click the above link for free holiday cards from Tiny Prints.
Dear WordPress,
Today’s assignment is to reinvent the letter. May I ask what you mean? What is a letter other than a consonant or vowel used to make words? If you are referring to the archaic communication method of using a pen or pencil, paper, envelope and stamps to share my thoughts and feelings with another person in another location, I need to inform you that letter writing is a long-lost art. Today’s emotions, news, achievements, worries, love etc are shared via electronic media. Cell phones, Twitter, Instagram, E-mail, Facebook, WordPress there are so many ways that modern people share their lives. Lives are now on public display. It is old-fashioned thinking to consider a letter. Why would anyone want to share private thoughts, concerns and emotions with just another person? Why would anyone want to hold in his/her hand a piece of paper which shows someone else took time out of his/her busy schedule to put words to paper?
Of course I am being sarcastic but unfortunately, what I wrote is much too true for today’s generation. Communication is quick and efficient but not necessarily heartfelt. There are too many shortcuts, abbreviations and a real lack of time spent thinking about what they are writing. Words and thoughts are shared that will remain in cyberspace forever but most likely will not be remembered by anyone.
A real letter, words put to paper or card, share emotion in so many ways. Is there a hint of scent that reminds you of home? Of a lover? Of a friend? is the penmanship steady or does it show signs of age or worry or impatience? Is it descriptive, full of colorful words or does the writer choose simple words that feel as though the writer is holding back? How many times do you hold the letter? Smell the letter? Reread the letter? Save the letter?
I have a box of letter and cards that my ex-husband and I wrote when we were dating. While my marriage suffered an untimely death when my ex decided he had for 30 years a foot out the door. I have those letters and cards which speak of hopes, dreams and love. They are there for my children and any future generations to read, to hold, to smell and to get to know us 100 years from now.
I have spoken too many times in my life without thinking about the damage my words would do. And sadly it is a learned behavior because hurtful words still resonate in my soul.
Speaking without thinking
Thinking without speaking
Hurtful words spewed
Venomous syllables
Cutting to the bone
Driving through the soul
Never to be undone
Collateral damage
Regret and sorrow
I want to eat my words
I want them back
I want to repair hearts
I want my soul healed
Excellent question because I never gave it much thought. I probably should have a place reserved just for writing but I have to be honest, I usually write with my computer on my lap and my cat next to me on the sofa. I live alone and get tired of silence. It becomes deafening and overwhelming, so I have my TV on too much.
I need to find a quiet place to let my thoughts flow so I can become a better writer.
“We envy a man for something he has and yet the truth may be he hasn’t got it after all and we have.” Francis Poldark PBS
We live in a world where the message is what you have isn’t enough. We are taught we need to be ambitious, make more money, attain a higher status, just get more. But does stuff and more money make us happy? Does it make us envy our friends and neighbors more or less? Do we ever reach a point when we’ve reached the pinnacle of success and feel satisfied or are we on some endless road?
I think the character Francis Poldark from the Winston Graham book series Poldark’s worcs ring just as true now as when Mr. Graham wrote them and also when Francis was supposed to have said them in the late 1700s. People don’t change. Status whether it’s brought by money, a beautiful wife, a big house or a successful business is a temporary fix for what we all desire on a deeper level.
Things are temporary. Jobs are temporary. Relationships can be shallow. Money comes and goes. But what if while we are so busy acquiring and envying others we miss the joy we already have in our lives? Studies have proven money doesn’t make us happy. It makes us comfortable and offers security on one level. I understand how devastating it can be to lose financial security. I’ve lost all the financial security I had when I divorced. I understand how devastating job loss and loss of a relationship can be. I was married for 30 years only to be tossed aside. It hurt. It still does. I see my friends’ lives and the security they still have. I feel envious. I feel cheated. I feel angry that my ex could discard me and our daughters like yesterday’s trash.
But what I’ve realized is that if I spend my time envying the life I had, the lives of my friends then I cheat myself out of recognizing the blessings and joys that I have in my life now. I have close and loving relationships with my daughters and son-in-law. I’ve learned who my true friends are and that the appearance of happiness doesn’t mean they are happy. I have peace of mind. I no longer wonder in what new way my ex husband was going to betray me and hurt me. I’ve learned I’m strong.
So Francis is right. We’ve had it all along.
In the midst of the crowd
Are lives being lived
Hearts being broken
Dreams being realized
Goodbyes being whispered
Hellos being shouted
Business being conducted
Weariness being all encompassing
Love being healing
Seconds being stolen
Minutes being horded
Hours being occupied
Days being treasured
Time to embrace life being lost to the
busyness of the day.
Choice
How do you know that one choice can change your life?
Will it be a choice that leads to happiness?
Or will it bring heartache and sorrow?
One choice only to realize you discarded 999 others.
999 other choices which would lead you to a different life.
A better life?
A happier life?
A life without pain and grief?
A life filled with loved ones who love you in return?
But,
Another choice may not give you your precious daughters.
Another choice might not give you loving friends.
Another choice may be full of poverty
Poverty of the mind, heart and soul.
Choices
one made each day
always leading us where we go
and 999 other left unexplored
Opening and closing doors.
I blog because I am alone. The walls close in and I feel buried beneath the weight of lost hopes and dreams.
I blog because it gives me a voice even if no one ever reads my posts.
I blog to connect to an unseen world of souls.
I blog because I have always loved to write and one can only keep so many journals before they overtake space.
I blog because maybe someday, somewhere, some moment I will find the inspiration, dedication and focus I need to actually write a book.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Million-Dollar Question.”
Listed in no particular order as all of them have touched me in someway equally.
I write because my head is full of words
words unspoken
I write because my head is full of dreams
dreams unfulfilled
I write because my head is full of ideas
ideas unexplored
I write because I have a voice
a voice unheard
I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. - Invictus
The Power of Story
Pieces of the Whole
Writing New Chapters when Life takes a Detour
Reviews of Films from the Golden Age of Hollywood
read what you love
Enriching my life with books
My life on an unexpected path 