Well, as you can see I am not good for my word, never mind words. Feeling like a terrible failure. Can't seem to keep to a schedule here. Sounds like a Roald Dahl book (ie: the BFG - big friendly giant) ; I'm the TTF( The terrible failure). Maybe i should just stick with the poetry, I can manage to spit out a few words. And speaking of terrible failure I could go on about my failures in life and love; as there are many but I don't know if I want to relive all that right now. I think I will just go to bed.
See, as soon as I committed to writing 1000 words a day you didn't see one more word from me. Altho I swear I had saved something in drafts that i was working on. I have been preoccupied with projects/remodeling going on in my house and all the chaos that involves. Another deterrent has been that I have been in pain from my shoulder and elbow; I realize that these are all excuses and Dr. notes are not accepted. I will try and get back in the saddle as soon as I get back from CVS ( drug store).
Ok, i am going to aspire to this as my real writer friend expounds this from "Making a LiteraryLife" by Caroline See. However since I am just a dilitante (dabbler in many things, master of none: ie: writing, piano, photography) which really translates to lazy shit; I decided to just post everyday and even at this I've been cheating. When I haven't written anything that day I am posting an old poem. I am going to try and stop this cheating and continue writing new entries everyday. I will also put all the old poems in a separate place under old poems, as i like seeing them in print here and perhaps start a new poems section of more recent stuff. Now that I have a plan I think I will go take a nap.
once told me
when I was
eleven or twelve
that I had bedroom eyes
I can’t remember
if I knew what he was talking about
I walk into
I look in the mirror
and see blue eyes with
alot of white under them
and a slightly tired look
Well this "You can never go home story" came from a series of emails that I sent my brother about my trip back to my hometown. Then when I had to join to respond to a post of my bestfriend,Patry Francis, who is a great writer; I decided to start one myself. I have been writing poetry since college ( a very long time ago) and a sporadic journal writer ( mostly whinin and plainin.) So I either have to come up with some new material or expound more on growin up in a small town in NJ in the 60's. Or maybe write about my experience in this millenium as a unhappily married working mother who is constantly remodeling her decrepit 35 yr old house. I guess I will decide tomorrow as procrastination and indecision are old friends of mine.
So she comes out front, hugs me and we wind up in her living room. She has bright red hair still ( she's about 75). I didn't remember her at first but when I saw the picture of her, when she was young, hanging in her living room I did. Evidently she really liked my Mom and went on about how much fun she was how much fun they used to have. She rattled off all the ole neighbor's and how they had died. I felt kinda sad sittin there at one point. Anyway we finally left and drove to the High School and all around town actually, from one end of town to the other. Saw both parks, the ole JCC, the uptown and downtown diners ( i hung at both at different periods in my life- ),and had lunch at Petridis ( the ole hot dog stand - tho now it is in a store.) Luke thought they were the best hot dogs. I liked them better when they were from the truck on the corner; it just wasn't the same eating them sitting down at a table in that storefront.They tasted much better covered in mustard and sauerkraut in a paper napkin , standing eating them on the sidewalk while juggling yr. coke or yoo hoo.I even remember how the sauerkrat made the roll soggy and you had to be careful not to eat the napkin. My ole grammar school was gone, torn down, houses now.
It was creepy but kind of cool being there all these years later. Oh yeah- the pool where my brother used to work ; I was telling Luke how it used to only be 50 cents to get in and as we drive by we read the sign and it still says 50 cents. neeneeneenee. You are now entering the Twilight Zone.
Well back to the story, disconjointed as it may be, maybe later I can go back and pull the story out of all this rambling. Let's see so.... I'm staring at those black speckled tiles and they're catapulting me back in time (like I almost steped into a time machine and I'm back practicing baton twirling or making out with my boyfriend, Steve.)
The man that lives in my house now says something about the paneling on the walls- the old knotty pine -that he painted it white. He's telling me that the second owner was a hairdreser and put in extra plumbing in a closet on the back wall of the basement, so this also made the basement look smaller than I remember; plus it was chock full of shit, including a piano.
Upstairs: the kitchen had a recent makeover and wasn't too bad. The living room with those little set of steps up to the bedrooms didn't look so good. I stood in my old bedroom and looked into the master bedrm. and bathrm, that also had been remodeled. Didn't have those little tiny tiles and no movie magazines with Elizabeth Taylor and Debbie Reynolds on the cover. The flight of stairs up to my brothers room were also smaller (less stairs) than I remember, thought they were longer/like the ones in my house now. Even went into the old attic - I loved that attic as a kid, thought it was cool. Shoulda made that into a room! The kids after us had written their names on the old cedar closet. Luke asked if I did, I don't remember but who knows maybe if we poked around more, we'd find some remant of our life there.
On the way back out we stop in the living room and I'm looking at the chinese art which is strange because my mom used to be into that stuff. Anyway he asks me if I remember Margaret from across the street? And he call her on the phone and tells her he has a girl here from the old neighborhood.....Rachael . And I can hear her through the telephone, scream...Rachael?....Rachael Landeau I'll be right over.
Well, I'm finally back from my little foray into computer hell. My computer was down; needed a new hard drive - 2 trips to the computer repair store and $230 later. I wish these things worked like TVs. And then there was all the time I spent unplugging it and replugging it in and figuring out how to get everything working again. Also had to research whether to fix it or buy a new one. All this took up most of this week. And it took me awhile to find this damn blog too( I had to retrieve my favorites links). Which made me feel safe that maybe nobody is actually reading it and I don't have to be embarrassed about it. I also wished the hell I knew what I was doing on here. Looks like my 1st post is in 3 places and I don't know where this one is going. So maybe I can get back to my supposed story someday. Didn't we used to call this stream of consciousness back in the hippie days? I'm just afraid that it's more like a river of unconsciousness or just a crock of shit. But i seem to be keeping myself entertained if nothing else.