Monday, December 18, 2017

Cloud Shadows

As a child, I remember being completely transfixed by the shadows of clouds. I would sit in the back seat of our car on road trips and watch them move gracefully along rolling hills. They were magnificent to me then. After 30 years in the inner-city, they are magnificent to me now. Sun and darkness, rolling, rolling, rolling past my window. They spoke to me of something grand and eternal that did not alter with man's doings on this earth.
Inner-city children know very little, if anything of the majesty of nature. They know miles of concrete, cracked sidewalks, tall buildings, urban blight, stray cats howling in the alleys and gangways at night.
I often wonder what this barrenness contributes to the violence that overshadows so many young  inner-city lives. I often wonder if more exposure to the majesty of nature would make a difference.
My childhood memories of nature are lush and painted with the intense hues of the world that surrounded me. I still escape into them from time to time. I have memories of watching Jack Frost furling out frond like patterns across windows. I envision the captivating gait of deer, as they turn their startled heads and move off towards more private grazing grounds. I still hear the nighttime song of multitudes of wildlife bellowing out their midnight chorus. My memories keep me sane.

Saturday, November 19, 2016

I haven't let myself cry yet.
I'm not sure if it is out of fear or indecision.
Part of me wants to wail. Part of me wants to scream. Yet I feel my tears would be so insufficient.

Sunday, November 13, 2016

Everyone wants to believe they would have hidden Anne Frank and her family. No one wants to believe they would have been an informer. We always see ourselves as the superhero, never the villain. We ask ourselves how people could have fallen for Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini. We never see ourselves in the clamoring crowds, accepting the unacceptable, being on the wrong side of history.


In our minds we play the hero. The arbiter of justice. You have to go deep if you want a real answer to a real question. You have to ask yourself what you are willing to overlook if it is a matter of convenience. You have to ask yourself if in times past you stood up for justice if and when it was not popular. Or if you have always kept in tow of the party lines of whichever party you were a part of.

Do you even question yourself? Do you even venture to imagine that you might have been on the wrong side. Or do you just assume that you would always be on the side of what is right?

Friday, November 11, 2016

I've decided to start blogging again as a type of journaling. I'm hoping that doing so will help alleviate the anxiety and heart break I feel over the 2016 election. More to come!

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Well, as of Friday, I am the foster parent of a toddler.  And now I sit here wondering how such a little bitty person could so totally turn my world upside down. Glad to have him though. The timing was one of those things that was so precise, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the hand of the Divine was in it. It should have been one of the saddest days I have known, but I had a bundle of responsibility dropped into my lap and there was not time or energy left to mourn what in comparison was a superficial loss.
Where once foster parenting was something I was more than ready to move on from, here I am now not ever wanting to do anything else. People tell me all of the time how lucky my children are to have me. I'm lucky to have them.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Haven't written much lately.
A summary: a lot of heart ache. disappointments. Too much drinking. New discoveries, or rediscoveries. New strength, less alcohol. Feeling better. Hope for the future. And now I am planning a trip to Istanbul with Jon.

That pretty much sums up last year.

Dear 2014,
I know you can do better.
Please & Thank you,

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Today I am so tired. Today, I don't want to be a foster parent. I want to be someone else. I don't want to be a punching bag for a child whose only mode of communication is relentless anger. I don't want to be responsible for the mental health of children who have been tortured, deprived, abandoned and abused in inconceivable way, first by birth parents, only to be handed over to ruthless people who are in it for the check. I don't want to live around people who shoot to kill.
I don't want to drive by boarded up buildings, too numerous to count. I don't want to be asked to wash my car windows for change, or to pay for a child to bang out a beat on a plastic bucket, and I sure as hell don't want to be forced to see someone's ass hanging out of their pants.
Today, I am so tired.
I don't want to drive 20 minutes to the grocery store, and I don't want to buy gas at a station with a variety of blunts taped to the window. I don't want to slip my money through the drawer or the carousel of bullet proof glass.
Today I am tired. So tired.