Your Lucky Turn

Resolved to publish; this year by-gummy.  I revisit my folders consisting of decades of collected writing; they reside in no particular order.   No, that’s not entirely true; there remains evidence of half-hearted efforts to catalogue and categorize being taken up from time to time.  It is closer to a Swiss cheese visage compilation. Many threads defy clarity. 

Get organized, identify what am I going to tackle? Collect some into Chapbooks of poetry? 

Finish an anthology of short stories? 

Perhaps churn that anthology of loosely fitting tales into a Prose Chapbook?

Suddenly I forget what prose means? Are there, in fact, prose chapbooks even?

A moment searching Google dumps multitudinous pages of advice and links to publishers.

I am intimidated.

I am frightened by the demands of catering to the business of publishing.

The options are buzzing about my awareness like angry hornets disturbed from their nest.

Order

The pieces do not have a theme; some barely possess sense.

I’m reminded of an antiquated phrase about herding cats; a kind metaphor, because cats at least pause on occasion to groom; my work mimics closer to hornets; to ignore one is to be stung by shame for neglecting any of one’s other darlings.

Breathe, you’ve been here before.

I have this snippet of recall of Oscar being brought to the doggie day care center; Tail Wagger’s.  A chorus of barking rushes us as the car door opens.  Oscar stirs with impatient frenzy as I work to unstrap him from his doggie carrier.   I hook his leash and place him on the ground.  He pulls with the might of a farm oxen; getting to the counter is a two arm grabbed struggle; this from a ten pound dog.  The papers are signed, the pickup time noted, transferred care for a short trip to the pack; we linger to watch.

The pandemonium is elevated in earnest by the surge of breeds to the door. 

Ricocheting tails; poking snouts, all vying to get familiar.

I think of that moment with comparative dread; I cringe to consider a liken ultimate happy place

With noses up my rear

Butts in my face to kiss

What was it I really wanted after all?

A Santa Moment

I bought my wife the entire series of Downtown Abbey on DVD as a Christmas present not noticing they were Blu-ray. That only matters if your DVD is 20th Century technology. Blu-ray can play DVD's from past vintage years, but like most technology it's downward looking; meaning my technology cannot play Blu-ray because it doesn't recognize its existence;  A speaking Martian to a grape situation.
Once we realized that, I was tasked to return to our local Box store and either exchange them for an older version or get a refund. Unbeknownst to me, the current policy at most stores that carry media, once the product has been opened they cannot refund.  In the spirit of the Original Barbie Doll being worth thousands of dollars but only if she comes with her original box.  I was unprepared for this bit of resistance, but asked to speak with someone who possessed a yes vote.  I  learned over the years almost every 'associate' has a 'no' vote when it comes to questions about returning products. Few possess the elusive 'yes' that customers so urgently seek when returning products that don't meet their needs.
Brandon was gifted at listening and commiserating with me over my situation when realizing I was in the twenty-first century.  It reminded me of my Spanish teacher who painstakingly explained to us students that if we did not turn in homework we would get a zero and when computing scores they would have a negative effect on our grades.  So when students were upset with their grades they were invited to come to her office and see all those zeros and then she'd be willing to sit with them and 'be sad together'.
Recognizing I was not cutting ice with Brandon, and just about filled to the brim with "I understand, and I am sorry" I impulsively let go of my outrage and indignation and asked,
   "So how much are your Blu-ray players?"
Brandon's face lit with joy.
   "Oh they are quite reasonable, cheap actually. You can get one for under fifty bucks."
So as he took me to the Blu-ray display counter he continued to empathize with my plight, saying he really was unable to do anything about corporate policy. Now that we were best friends again (as retail clerks work so hard to convince the customer they are), He responded to some of my protest, such as why didn't they post a caution about Blu-ray DVD's not playing in older players?
   "Frankly we don't do that because its so rare that they get these kinds of problems anymore" What a subtle way of saying I was behind the learning curve. As I was checking out with my brand new Blu-ray player, I mentioned that it felt oddly like finding out there was no Santa.  The clerk at the register and Brandon smiled at me, but I could see they didn't comprehend my meaning.
   "When you were a kid and you found out there was no Santa and you paused, shocked with the news.  But you also knew you had to accept the truth of it in time.  Your world may have gotten bigger, and closer to actual, but it also became a little bit colder."
They nodded their understanding. But I realized, they were young, they haven't had enough experience with disillusion yet to recognize its a familiar part of life.  Not yet anyway.  I suspect they were just happy I didn't get violent and turn over the M&M display like the last old fart who didn't get his way.

On the Cusp of the Equinox

There was no plan, I just happened to connect the time in my head while I was waiting for my dog to finish his morning business in the snow.

Commemoration of the second milestone since mom left my world. It impacts the holidays to be sure, but I’ve been told by those who lost their parents in earlier seasons the absences is just as keen.

Here would be the place to mention those attributes I found endearing; but to be honest the memory is beginning to blur as I can’t hang my hat on anything that wouldn’t read silly. 

   “What’s for dinner mom? Wind pudding and air sauce”.  Was my mom a smart-aleck, or just tired of having to answer the same question over time?

Now I am a mature adult, shaped into the person I most likely will remain with small incremental changes internally, with major accelerated external differences coming.  The values taught; the skills to dream; continue to influence; even those that cause discord with my own child.  “No son, respect is not something earned, but always demonstrated”

Yikes, did I say that?

When my sisters and I talk of mom we mostly agree she was an enigma; a powerful unpredictable force. One who could charm and prohibit at a whim.

How can a child comprehend the calculus only parents learn at the altar of error? I know of a forgiving phrase I read by Marian Williamson, spokes person for A Course in Miracles; “They’d have done better if they knew how”

That’s a keeper to be sure. Not just when reviewing parental relationships but for all relationships.

But back to the mourning loss of an influence I had grow accustomed to. What was the most important, if not to reflect on tenderness? My middle sister would not agree, but  hers is a different point of view; that’s alright by me, we have our own personal experiences to be sure.  Whether mom, or dad for that matter, measured up to my expectations has little to do with how I keep reverent values I was taught before I could object or reason for myself.

I learned to strive to be kind; without a stern negative mark against my name  if I didn’t meet the mark.  Was that etched in stone? Spoken solemnly at the hearth fire?  No, my witness to her life was one giving me opportunity to filter out my judgment, then endear a soul who took on the burden of me without promise of reward.

That’s plenty enough to gain and keep my reverence: She didn’t have to. Loss of that kind of dedication is the fount of heartbreak. She met love’s demand….give like it’s nobody’s business How can that not result in gratitude?

Two years ago, to the day, on the eve of the longest night of the year, she relaxed her struggle with a physical exhaustion to remain.  She earned her rest from the quiet beauty of selfless sacrifice mom’s are.