Sunday Scribblings 03-01-08: Time Machine

When Your Past Comes Back


Who is ever prepared for when the past comes for a visit?
It catches unawares, and often cold.
We marvel at the wonder, or stare in horror there
Wonder, when did we get so very old?
A treasure from our childhood, can turn us back to ten
And bring the simple joy of life anew
We remember carefree days, or a second froze in time
As captured in a fragile drop of dew.
A person we once knew, can walk right through a door
And hit us with emotions buried long
Seems I find these times, their entrance brings to mind,
the strains of a long ago time's song.
Whether bad or history good, the years have gone away,
And you remember the epiphany with them.
That moment that you met, or parted or fought or cried,
The time that was forgiven, or condemned
A scent, a smell, a perfume that wafts along the breeze,
and takes us somewhere once we used to live.
In someone’s house or someone’s heart, the aroma that we know,
And, oh, such comfort does it give.
The sights, the sounds the smells, all creep into our mind
And unlock what once we buried deep inside,
It travels to the heart and finds the source therein,
the place where these memories reside.
Who is ever prepared for when the past comes for a visit?
It catches unawares, and often cold.
We marvel at the wonder, or stare in horror there
Wonder, when did we get so very old? Read more!

Sunday Scribblings: 02-09-08: Fridge Space

Vengeance is a dish best eaten cold.

He couldn’t remember when or where he had heard that, but he had known it all of his life. To that end he created what he called his mental “fridge space”, a place to put the wrongs and injustices in his life and let the sit, waiting until they were properly chilled. Sometimes, it took years. And the thing he learned was that most of the time, by letting them sit, karma came into play and he had to do nothing to enjoy the revenge, and that was good for his karma since he was not putting anything negative out to come back to him. As a matter of fact, most times once a revenge was extracted, he found that he had a few good things come to him.

Waiting could be hard for him, though, depending on the who and the what. People who had hurt him the deepest, caused him the most anguish, haunted him. It took a lot to not act on that, almost as much as it took to not turn the situation around as if he had done the wrong. Others he forgot about until some little gossip came to him, reminding him that they had fouled his life and now theirs had been fouled. He’d smile a little smile and be thankful there was no baking soda to sanitize his mental fridge. No one cleaned out the containers in the back, black with ages of mold and vile deeds. The longer they sat, the sweeter the revenge.

He placed the latest betrayal into its container and shoved it way back…behind his
Ex-girlfriend from college, behind his cousin’s thieving two years ago. This one had to go way to the back so he would forget, because the betray was so heinous, so deep and so vile, he wanted it to ripen for a long time. This was the worst one and it had to wait a life time, and he had to remain strong enough to let it. Read more!

Sunday Scribblings:1/18/08:Fellow Travelers

In His Eyes

The greatest story
I ever read
was in the lines
on the face of an old man
on a flight to Wisconsin.

He told me of his life.

How, as a young man,
he left his parents to take part in
the drama of war. On
foriegn soil he was witness
to humanity's inhumanity.
He returned with blinders
to the differences in his fellow man.

His sweetheart awaited him.

and within her arms
the love story of marriage.
They courted, and had
the traditional wedding, taking to heart
the vows to stay as one.
Those vows produced the
tragi-comedy of children,
five boys who did
all the things he did:
caught frogs and crawdads,
climbed high into
the trees, got into
fights, and scared their mother. And he
wavered between wanting to hug them
and scold them
at the same time. The middle boy
was lost young, to
fever. The strength
of unspoken love from his wife
pulled him through,
as his did for hers.

Now, on this plane,
he was taking her to be
with the middle son.

I watched in silence
as the memories returned to him.
The horrors and the hurt.
The love and the laughter.
This all marched through his eyes.
So much those eyes had seen.
I wanted to reach to him,
to offer him my shoulder.


I stayed mute.
Storing his strength,
the glory of his story,
the beauty of his spirit,
the depth of his love.

It is the touchstone,
the well of experience,
upon which I still draw. Read more!

11-04-07 Sunday Scribblings: Money

This ends up being a timely prompt to me. Because something that made the headlines this week is rooted in the love of money, and how it is the root of all evil.

I am a fan of Duane “Dog” Chapman. I didn’t want to be. I thought the show was going to be some macho crap piece. Then one day, I got caught up in a marathon. And I fell in love with the show.

Dog has had his troubles. Served time in prison. Came out vowing to change his life and help others change theirs. And he has. He looks out for others, whether it is family, friends, the innocents or, yes, even the criminals. I don’t think I have seen an episode yet where he hasn’t offered himself and his resources to help these people he has to track down. He is open, and shows his rough edges. He is human.

For those who haven’t heard his son, SON, flesh and blood, sold a tape to the National Enquirer for a lot of money of a private phone conversation in which Dog repeatedly uses a racial slur. Do I like the word? No. Do I hear the word every day? Yes. Someone somewhere will use the word. It is unavoidable. But the people who generally use the word do it in privacy of a personal conversation. They are not broadcasting it. Dog’s son sold a private conversation to make his father look bad and has potentially ruined the lives of many, many people who work on the show, his family being a large portion of it.

Dog has profusely apologized, has reached out to make amends. He should be allowed to, and it should go away. His show should continue because it does a lot of good. A&E television should not pull it. Al Sharpton and his band of salivating media whores should let this one go for what it was.

I know there is a huge movement to rid the world of this word. I applaud it. I detest the word. Unfortunately, I know it will never go away. But it should not be used in public by anyone. Not in music, movies, literature. However, if two people are in a private conversation and it is spoken, that is another matter.

Freedom of speech and expression are being suppressed in the world because of all of the “politically correct” police. I am not a PC person. I am a caring individual who speaks her mind. I find humor in places that others may think is wrong. But I am an individual. I hate having to couch things in public because I might offend someone. I think our society is not so much worried about what it may do to someone to hear these things as much as how much they can exploit and profit from someone being a human being and occasionally sticking their foot in their mouth.

“You said what? You did what? Well I find that offensive and I am going to sue you for a lot of money.”

We are all different. Even when we are alike, we are still different somehow. This world should celebrate our differences instead of using them as cannon fodder to blow others out of the water. Wars are fought because of it. People are killed because of it. Riots, gang wars, robbery, beatings. All of these hurtful things are because one is different from another, and they cannot resolve to accept that.

I guess this isn’t as totally about money as it should be. But money plays a big part in the dividing lines. Money cannot buy happiness. Its old, its trite, and its true. You may buy something with your money that makes you happy, but it is fleeting. Unless you become at peace with the world and your surroundings, and the people you share it with, you will not know real happiness. Ever. Read more!