And once again

I feel like I have been here before, my giant squirrel cage pushing my past into my face, the horrible gritty feeling of being in the wrong lane, or going the wrong direction on a one way street.  How can I possibly have missed my way when my way is stationary, only my mind traveling relentlessly in what feels today like ever-diminishing circles. Mommy, mommy, my cage is too tight!

There I sat, my lifeline in my lap, spewing dreams and old news in no meaningful order, and suddenly had  the terrible sensation of living the wrong life, writing the wrong words, failing to achieve, or even to remember the goal. Aaah! I can’t breathe!

Fickle Muse

Dreaming awake turning one way repeat
Feeling the blanket, sweat on the sheet
Hear the voice of the Muse soft and so sweet
Promising words with pattern and beat.

Gentle wind blowing ideas to me
Longing for freedom, longing to be
The message, the message that others will see
As I follow the vision entrusted to me.

Line after story run through the night
Muse breathes to my soul until new day’s light
Hope filling heart pouring from a great height
Fingers are poised yet the page remains white.

Faithless Muse taking those thoughts far away
Finding a new soul with which to play
Again the filling, then taking away
Leaving sorrow behind to fill the new day.

Cruel Muse.

Another Day Another Daydream

I dream. I eat. I breathe. I hope and pray. I love. And I daydream.

Looking out the window I see the clouds which hold the triggers for the dreams, past present and future. I can drift backwards through the seasons and the years to find the seeds of today in those occurrences which through good or bad times shaped and molded the person I was becoming. Moving ahead through decades I recall highlights and lowlights and some no-lights. It’s odd to see the dreams I had as my younger self who still lives within me, pushing, pressing, trying to get out and have another chance. She looks at me with hurt in her eyes, silently blaming me for missing out on all of her dreams, as though I asked for us to be struck down.

Now I am back here and now. The clouds still float by changing shape with every wind, winds too harsh for me but producing gentle beauty. But dreams are not daydreams, and the past yields lessons and memories, not daydreams.

I watch the clouds and travel with them to another land. I’m a star, an actress of untold depth who is not diminished by aging but rather increases in making her audiences believe in her character. The imaginings travel the world, doing good works, changing the face of the future through her passion and eloquence.

I float above the clouds as I run to a marathon, feeling the breeze on my sweating body and welcoming its cooling touch as I press on toward the finish line with one hand pressed to my chest, feeling the pounding of my heart and the rasping breath against my ribs. I win.

I remember watching ballet, then beginning to dance alone or with a partner. Again I have the sensation of flying, and using every muscle to its maximum. Exhilarated,  I then choreograph and star in a great ballet. I take my bows, accepting the adulation of the crowds as my due.

A moment later the dream is lost as my eyes catch sight of a hawk soaring above, looking for prey. How down to earth can it get? Just like that the real world is back. It’s time to work my way up from the recliner and into the bedroom to lie down and sleep. Perhaps I will dream of flying, or singing, or riding, or being young and clever with lost friends and family at hand. Maybe…

PCDD

It was the day after Christmas and all through my house

Not a creature was stirring, not a cat, not a mouse

The dog was all settled with me in my bed

And visions of family danced in my head.

The house had been full, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day,

Adults sharing gifts, children at play.

Then came the next day, all quiet and calm

Which to my twitchy soul should have been a great balm.

Instead a great weight fell, rimmed with a dark border

I call the Post Christmas Depressive Disorder.

I’m better today, though, I’m pleased to say.

Two beautiful children are coming to stay.

TV and popcorn and a kiss and a hug

We snuggle together like bugs in rug.

And then tomorrow all through this bright house

Adults and children, maybe even a mouse.

After they leave there returns the dark border

I call the Post Children Depressive Disorder.

Denise A. Carr

Voices in the Night

The night is filled with sorrow and grief
For so is the world, friends and strangers,

Never a lack of tragedies to hear in the dark.                                                                                      Sit up and worry in the nearly black room,

Hoping morning will be here very soon                                                                                        And the lightening day will drive away
The memories of voices in the night

Telling us to share the load.                                                                                                        Telling us how to help.

Ah, now they are gone.

October 14, 2013

As I write today’s date I realize the beautiful month of October is almost half over. Right now the sun is shining, the trees are ranging from green to yellow to orange to red. The breeze is tickling the trees and bringing them to the dance. With grace and beauty they bow and sway to an unheard music. I am content to watch for hours, but I already started to post. I’ll finish this and gaze out of the window some more.

Look at the year. 2013. Something that as I child I could not see ever coming. I lived in the fifties and sixties of the twentieth century, and the twenty-first was beyond my comprehension. Needless to say I’ve lived for several decades since, but those years, the formative years, established a frame of reference for which I have yet to find a cure. Even now I’m a little astonished to see the two thousands show up on my newspaper and my checks, although I am the one that wrote the date.

I have been married almost twice as long as I was single, but if distracted I may find I’m writing my maiden name. I was happy to change names at the time, for the new name fit better on the checks, and was easier to say. Still, there are moments of surprise at the new name. How can it be the new name when it’s been here so long? Thirty-nine and a half years.

My kids were born in the seventies and eighties, and I still think of them as ‘the kids.’ My kid brothers were born in the sixties, and I call them ‘the boys’ and probably will when they’re in their sixties. The grandchildren? They are my babies. Sorry about that, little ones.  It’s amazing how they can make me smile when they aren’t even here.

The sun is still shining, the breeze has become a wind, and the dance is more like a jive than a waltz. I have to stop now. October is calling.

Oh, I Remember Now

Well, it’s been over a week since I had my computer in my lap and ready to receive my wisdom and foolishness, poetry and prose, now and then. I wish I had my  mind  back, the one that is user friendly, not the one I’m often stuck with. I think I know what’s what and find what’s not. I think I can do something and rediscover that I can’t. 

I had a point I wanted to make. It’ll come back to me. I hope. Maybe before midnight. Meanwhile, I’ll just blather on bravely. If one stresses the thought/point can be squeezed out through the ears, never be recovered. Unless, of course, the thought has lowered itself quickly on a bungee cord in which case it may spring back and smack one upside the head. Sometimes twice.

That worked! What I remember now has to do with the first sentence I wrote. Here it is. When I am away from the computer for more than a day I find it daunting to get through the accumulation of emails. There are a lot of new posts on Facebook I will never see, and several that take time to read, like and add my nickel’s worth.  If it’s been too long I’m done in without even reaching the best part (I always save the best for last), the blogs, both mine and others. Did you know I can never tell you what I had for breakfast? Not just because I can’t remember for sure but also because I forget to have breakfast. How did I end up at the food table? Oh, cuz once again I forgot what I wanted to say.  Yikes!

So, a very big deal is going to happen very soon. My 86-year-old mother is moving from here to assisted living as soon as all the paperwork is done, give or take a few days. My husband and I with one dog and one inherited cat will need to find a new place to live in a hurry as we needed the money mom gave us monthly to help pay the extra rent for the extra bedroom. That whole monstrous reality also slips from my memory. The task of sorting and packing for two places will be exhausting. When it’s done, will I be able to blog again or will I have forgotten this site. Or will I be able to sit up for a few weeks? Time will tell.

Tell what?

You Never Call, You Never Write

I never thought I’d see the day of telephones connecting us with other people with the touch of thumbs, one if to send, two if by text. I am amazed by the advances in the technology I didn’t understand in the first place. Some of it is really great, like instant talking maps guiding us through a back seat driver who sits in the front. Then there is quick access to information, and a site called Wikipedia, which we know is all true. After all, we read it on the internet!  We can share recipes without writing them out. We can send party invitations without stamps. You can ask what time the wedding is going to start, find out it has been rescheduled to two hours earlier, and later realize you now know it is two hours earlier than, uh, what?  That  is why you sent  the text in the first place!

Some of this ten-words-or-less communication is effective and only costs a moment. But I am greedy. I often want more. Yes, it does cost more time, and requires it from both parties (like cell phone service). I think it’s worth it to visit daily or weekly with people that know me and love me anyway as I do the same for them. Talk to me. Call me when you are not driving, or on the way into a meeting, or about to leave the house. Call me when you have time to talk. Share your week. Tell me how you feel. I’ll reciprocate and we will have talked!

Come and see me. I want to look at you, drink you in, see your expressions when you talk, see your expressions when I blabber, and share a hug and a bit of your life. Don’t drop by while you are killing time until a meeting or a date is supposed to start.  You don’t focus when your mind has some of itself already out the door. Well, you may stop here to kill time as long as you do the other kind of visiting also. People need people.

When you are away for more than a weekend, write to me! That’s what it is called when you put the pointy end of a pen or pencil on paper. Notebook paper, gift wrap as long as it isn’t tissue paper, ripped up paper bags, greeting cards, and computer paper are all acceptable. Napkins – paper or cloth – coffee filters, paper towels, and toilet paper are not. Then, with pointy end of writing implement still on the paper, form letters into words that let me know how you are doing wherever you are and most of all that you are safe. The time it took to write to me tells me you understand me… and love me anyway…  and maybe even miss me a little.

Talk to one another. Build trust, friendship, and even love for one another. Share a bit of yourself with someone. You may get back so much that you will have enough to share some more.

I once talked to a telephone pole. No matter how often or how much I shared, it just stood there like a big stick. I talked to a stream, and it just ran off, babbling the whole time, but not to me. I tried to talk to drying paint, but fell asleep waiting for an answer. No, if you really want to be a caring, sharing human being then be a little daring. Reach out and talk to me.

Melodymom?

When we first got internet access In 2000, I was very timid about everything. I found some newsgroups about the health issues I was enduring and read long enough to know I wanted to be a part of them but needed an email account. Should I put my real name out there? Will it make things weird? Am I neurotic?

So I opted for using a screen name. Advice from family members ranged from “whatever you want it to be” to “make it about what you like to do.”  Well, I didn’t do much anymore as my body had done me wrong and I spent more time on the computer than on the couch and more time on the couch than in bed. I would still like to do a lot things, but I no longer could.

Finally the right offspring came through. She thought about it for a minute. She was old enough to really remember when I was busy. I wrote music, conducted some choirs, sang in church choir etc. And with my other hand I raised the five children I birthed.

Need I say more? Melodymom.  Ta-da!

The End.

Ashes to Joy

Every day when I wake I feel sorrow and pain.

With my feet on the floor I struggle to gain

Enough strength to force this body upright.

Going through the motions, first steps are taken

Slowly, so slowly, the cobwebs are shaken,

Darkness recedes from strengthening light.

Things of yesterday have not all been burned

In the fire, nor have they all been turned

To ashes. Some now glow as the refiner’s gold.

Joy’s hands reach in with warmth and start

To touch and heal this tired heart

With songs of praise both new and old.

God is Love.