Sitting by myself... hitting refresh...
thinking that something might change.
It's seems like hours since she went away
and that cover is there on my head.
I need to look out but what will I see?
There's no message coming in...
"why do I let myself get this way?"
Try it again, maybe now, no not now.
She could have once said, "I love you"
and gone back to bed. Instead...
now I sit here and hit refresh
losing my heart and out of my head.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Josie Doesn't Have An Email Address
When I was a kid my mom never made a big deal about Mother's day. It was just another Sunday with a pot of gravy on the stove and my card on the table. From time to time I'd see her take a moment to read it again. It wasn't like Christmas tears to see her there. Her hugs were stronger and her words, "Every day is Mother's Day since I had you."... she'd say them in Italian and tell me that's what Grandma used to say to her. My Mom missed Grandma. That's where the Mother's Day tears came from. My Mom became a Grandma... I miss her too.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
My Mom and Dad still forgave me.
Easter Sunday... 1957.
Holy Saturday... drizzling rain all day... windows, droplets, the chill... radiator warm. It didn't matter one bit, that night I was going to get a new rain coat... a real trench coat. So cool... fold over front... buttons and belt, I had nothing else on my mind... not so young any more.
A change of plans... I was on my way out the door at 2pm... I would get the chance to wear my coat... couldn't wait for ever... time wouldn't let me. But I had to be at The Church for Holy Saturday... I was in the choir... to sing... what to do? One voice missing... just this one time and time wouldn't let me. I said nothing and went with my folks to get my new coat... all mine... not so young any more. The services slipped from in side my head... into the stream of rain that flowed away down the paths of my coat. It hung in my room in the dark. I thought how tomorrow would be the first time my parents would at Mass since I was a little kid and now they would go and spot me in the balcony singing thanks for so much.
I arrived early that morning at the church in my new coat with my freshly ironed uniform draped over my arm bright red and white. My mother and father would arrive later in time to see it and hear it all. The entire choir was assembling and then I hear her... Sister Mary Bernard calling to me... words of anger. The choir parted like the Red Sea and a cloud that I ran from the day before caught up to my life and poured down without a moment's lost over the time that wouldn't let me. She threw me out. I didn't show up on Holy Saturday. She took what my mom ironed and told me to leave. The silence returned itself to an attentive group of hovering red and moved away down the hall towards 10 o'clock Mass.
I left the church and made my way across the street in my new rain coat. I stood all alone that morning occasionally saying Happy Easter to people hurrying for the wooden doors that separated me from my mom and dad. I didn't think anything else. I didn't care if I was out of the choir... or that I was even missing Easter Sunday Mass and going to hell for it. All I could imagine was the smiles and turned heads of my parents looking to catch a glimpse of me. Over and over I made it run through head. I closed my coat and pulled my collar up in shame.
Easter Sunday, for me, would never be the same and I add to the rhyme... I am totally to blame.
Holy Saturday... drizzling rain all day... windows, droplets, the chill... radiator warm. It didn't matter one bit, that night I was going to get a new rain coat... a real trench coat. So cool... fold over front... buttons and belt, I had nothing else on my mind... not so young any more.
A change of plans... I was on my way out the door at 2pm... I would get the chance to wear my coat... couldn't wait for ever... time wouldn't let me. But I had to be at The Church for Holy Saturday... I was in the choir... to sing... what to do? One voice missing... just this one time and time wouldn't let me. I said nothing and went with my folks to get my new coat... all mine... not so young any more. The services slipped from in side my head... into the stream of rain that flowed away down the paths of my coat. It hung in my room in the dark. I thought how tomorrow would be the first time my parents would at Mass since I was a little kid and now they would go and spot me in the balcony singing thanks for so much.
I arrived early that morning at the church in my new coat with my freshly ironed uniform draped over my arm bright red and white. My mother and father would arrive later in time to see it and hear it all. The entire choir was assembling and then I hear her... Sister Mary Bernard calling to me... words of anger. The choir parted like the Red Sea and a cloud that I ran from the day before caught up to my life and poured down without a moment's lost over the time that wouldn't let me. She threw me out. I didn't show up on Holy Saturday. She took what my mom ironed and told me to leave. The silence returned itself to an attentive group of hovering red and moved away down the hall towards 10 o'clock Mass.
I left the church and made my way across the street in my new rain coat. I stood all alone that morning occasionally saying Happy Easter to people hurrying for the wooden doors that separated me from my mom and dad. I didn't think anything else. I didn't care if I was out of the choir... or that I was even missing Easter Sunday Mass and going to hell for it. All I could imagine was the smiles and turned heads of my parents looking to catch a glimpse of me. Over and over I made it run through head. I closed my coat and pulled my collar up in shame.
Easter Sunday, for me, would never be the same and I add to the rhyme... I am totally to blame.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
I just had a thought about:
The block where I lived... the secluded places of private imagination. Water cool... Summer and then back to school. Books and pens... paper and penmanship that counted for extra points.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Saturday, December 27, 2008
The Book Mobile
When I was a kid... once a week, the Book Mobile would come to our neighborhood. There was a wooded place where the Church is now and at the entrance to the woods was a big huge boulder. Around the boulder, to the left and right, were smaller ones. Huge trees covered the site with Summertime limbs of green that reached out only a few weeks before shading afternoons of Kool-Aid and Monopoly.
In the Fall the trees would release their colors and they would dam up all around the boulders. It would be an unreal sight for the kids to be up to their necks in a sea of leaves. The Book Mobile would pull up around 4PM and we'd go through it to get story books and then gather outside in the leaves to hear the Librarian read to us. It was actually almost warm in the depths of the fragrant fallen... our backs against the stone.
The Librarian would then come out, down two steps and read above us perched on golden lit stone with little heads popping out from the ground... our hands beneath crumbling leaves all around. Blustery wind but only above her... that huge stone shield... all was quiet and only her words could be heard from cover to cover. It was us, The Librarian,The Green Book Mobile, it's generator and it's lights... and the sunset at 5.
A week later, we all came back and like every year... the leaves were gone.
Last week... while working, I installed a replacement air conditioning blower on top of a library... windy and cold.... the heat came up through the air handler on the roof.... warm from below, I could smell the library. I thought of the Book Mobile... cold and warm.... the smell of it's books, "The Blustery Day", the leaves, the Librarian and the sound of her words.
In the Fall the trees would release their colors and they would dam up all around the boulders. It would be an unreal sight for the kids to be up to their necks in a sea of leaves. The Book Mobile would pull up around 4PM and we'd go through it to get story books and then gather outside in the leaves to hear the Librarian read to us. It was actually almost warm in the depths of the fragrant fallen... our backs against the stone.
The Librarian would then come out, down two steps and read above us perched on golden lit stone with little heads popping out from the ground... our hands beneath crumbling leaves all around. Blustery wind but only above her... that huge stone shield... all was quiet and only her words could be heard from cover to cover. It was us, The Librarian,The Green Book Mobile, it's generator and it's lights... and the sunset at 5.
A week later, we all came back and like every year... the leaves were gone.
Last week... while working, I installed a replacement air conditioning blower on top of a library... windy and cold.... the heat came up through the air handler on the roof.... warm from below, I could smell the library. I thought of the Book Mobile... cold and warm.... the smell of it's books, "The Blustery Day", the leaves, the Librarian and the sound of her words.
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