There was a time when I could go through a litre of milk, just get up, open the fridge, and drink glass after glass, hungrily, gobbling it up like I was starved of it. Mom would say she’d always go out and buy extra if she knew I was coming for a visit, so she’d have milk for her coffee the next morning. These posts … Continue reading And The 51st Can See The Light: how do you buy a bag of milk?
This one I’ll admit I find a little embarrassing and was hard to choose, hard to admit to, truth be told. This post is rather indicative of the rest of that year though, given the broken arm, and off work, I had little to do with myself but write haiku and obsess over this thing or that; this is one of those things. At the … Continue reading The 52nd: the girlfriend on retainer
I find that writing can be little like catching fastballs, or like me not catching them at all and watching them wiz by. I sit here sometimes and have all these words inside, jumping around like those weird Mexican jumping beans you used to be able to get at the corner store, but they just die or pass on perhaps to someone else, maybe those … Continue reading All The Things I Haven’t Said
I suppose one can get the impression with these kinds of little look backs that this me writing this has it all sorted, ducks in a row, and you would be wrong. Ducks might be paddlin’ in the same pond, but nope, not in a row. Absolutely, spectacularly not that organized. Although I will say, I’ve always somewhat eschewed order, in favour of a little … Continue reading On To The 60th: what happens when you’re dancing to a Latin beat
I’ve recognized a few things in going thru these old drafts, one of which is that I am more of a Ken Burns sort of storyteller, then I am a Stephen King. And, that I’ve shifted gears, going with the flow might be more correct, and that real life is far better than any fiction. Suppose this post is also about why I do what I … Continue reading The 64th Post Pulled From Purgatory: Underneath Her Heart
It’s been a week of rain, as I write this I can hear it is once again pouring, I’m writing this in a stream of consciousness, and it seems apt that almost every day more rain falls to wash all the things away I no longer need to carry, no longer need to burden myself with. These posts serve to help me see how far … Continue reading The 66th Draft: Reconstructing a future
This trip down memory lane has me looking back at things, piece by piece, and so I get to the letters I wrote to Mom, for almost 3 years. I went back and looked, and there it was, the first – Scent and Flowers – April 16th, 2014. Given that she died in October of 2001, basically, I was writing letters to the dead till February … Continue reading The 70th Draft: Does The Universe Cry?
This purging of the posts is rather cathartic, seeing the number drop away, this one, that one, gawd no that’s not staying, all into the trash. Originally dated October 11th, 2014, I had lived here just over a year, and it was days away from the 2nd anniversary of Tim’s death on the 18th, that month of loss and many griefs were upon me. As … Continue reading 75th Draft Dredged From The Bowels Of My Blog: It’s Not Just The Colour Of The Leaves
I widdle away at them, empty post here with a great big long title, quite a few with no title and no content, out with the lot of ya, and so I came to this one. Well, the Golden bombshell blond has aged and adjusted to city life, she turned 10 this last May, so she’s a senior and thus has calmed down the be-ya-tch … Continue reading 84th Draft Dredged Up From The Brink: An Old South Dog
Some of these drafts are so far away and long ago, so removed, that they seem as though they were written by someone else, another me. This is definitely one of those, and there was a hesitation to post, but I suppose most of these will have a taste of that about them. This one is again from the summer of 2013, a few months … Continue reading 87 Drafts And Counting: On Abandoned Byways
From 2013, written the summer after Tim died and I had moved back home, to Dodge. Dodge as in get outa? Tis the way ol’Dodgers, such as myself, refer to our beloved village. As for the getting out part, most do, some don’t, others won’t. This has sat in my drafts all this time, it is about a night, a person who shall remain nameless, … Continue reading 88 Drafts And Counting: When A Succubus Comes Out To Play
Just after dark, on my way to friends for a visit, riding through the village last night and the trick or treaters were out in force, spooky music drifted out onto the street, chilling screams, giggling of ghosts and ghouls and fairy princess’, and I wonder when I decided to make a point of not going out at Halloween? That was wrong. I was wrong. … Continue reading Of Everything And Nothing
The morning brought rain, and more rain, that driving hard pouring kind, so the ritual with the furball was cut short to one brief in and out, and the weather site said this was what I could expect till evening, so no bike this morn, no choice but a taxi. Woke before the alarm and turned back the covers and got up, I can never … Continue reading The News Is Too Much With Us
by PaulaB 