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I have not written any more on the NaNaWriMo story I started in 07. Every so often it knocks on my door and asks me what will happen next...and I don't really know.

I've laid a nice groundwork of the community, the major and minor players and reached a mid story climax (the girl marries the best man instead of the main character). He confronts them, mourns his loss and moves on to ideas of retribution. Then I am stuck.I know he is going to ignore his visions and let lots of people die. But where from there? I need to reread the Sampson story again, and review my notes, and see if I cant' get back into the groove.

I would feel so accomplished if I finished this story- I've never written 50,000 words. And since I fell asleep at the wheel with NaPoWriMo this month, I could use a success.

Poets and Writers had a giant list of contests. I should pick a fiction contest and set the submission deadline as the goal for this story. It's an idea.

Brother, we're sorry

God has said
Man shall die once
and then the Resurrecdtion
and his life span shall be
twenty five and one hundred years.

Lazarus died and his sisters wept
Lazarus slept and Jesus cried.
Lazarus stank and Jesus called out
Lazarus walked back from the dead lands

Does he walk still
among the centuries?
waiting for the trumpet blast
mourning lovers past.

Is he millenia aged
lying on his lifebed cold?

Brother Brother, I can't see you
Martha here beyond the vale
waits with me.
Are you working, yearning,
day by year?
Sabbath day
and Sabbath year
we cry for your release.
We dared to cross
God's will
Repeal the natural order

You were better off dead


You, retreating

Only the back of your Holy Head
stops my universe

Notheing scares me
terrifies me
like the back of your head
your Holy head

Do not turn your face from me
whatever I do
whatever I may say
whomever I am today
look me full in the eye
and tell me you forgive me

I can bear the pains
the strain of waiting
until You come back for me.
The only thing that robs
me, my faith, the only
sight that steals my hope
is the back of Your head
Please don't turn
your face from me
I pray you never
walk away from me.



Lay me down on a snow whilte bower
Soothe me with your broken voice

Seek out my lameness with your practiced hand
I guide your tough to the pain in my side

Finger my ache, bring forth my gears
Numbing winds blow, I am disjointed

Impale me with your curative sting
Draw out my hidden poison

Murmur comfort to my ragged heart
Empower me with your confidences

Balance me on these timid feet


The Theory of String

Pink and green varigated
fingering weight spills
from the shlf of the coat
closet. The final row
of ruffles unravels;
the layette packed
haphazard after
a second trimester

Anxious knitting is tight and pulled

Circular needles fammed
into mohair skeins
mark the time
when small gave way
to medium. Put
the shell stitches
to your ear and hear
the pormises
to be that thin

Medicated stitches are dropped, rows uneven

Under the stairs
in a dust bunny burrow
bably blue sport weight
balss and a half finished
blanket lie abandoned.
It was barely three
months along this time.

An angered knitter impales her antagonist

Kite tails tied with lavender
strings bring new life
to discarded booties;
once loved,
now in the rag bin.
Hours of picot
and ineapples
no longer draw looks
of envy, so why
waste the time?

She doesn't bother to yarn over.


Single Hand Stranding

The Fair Isle children
hold hands for the dance
The twisting commences
As strands are woven
right side, wrong
Knit together with motifation,
a Navy, A White
so crisp, so sharp
Their song calls the needle
garters front to back;
Sleeves, left and right
Purls of love
for a Grandchild


three dreams

1) I was part of a family of sexual deviants and serial killers. Our parents (not David and/or Nancy) were married despite the fact they were first cousins. That is as far as their impropriaty went. But they had eight children, one more messed up than the next. There was a pediphile brother who was unrestrained by society or law. Two black widow sisters who sometimes seduced men as a team. Some of the siblings were simply wontenly promiscuous, searching for pleasure from any recepticle whether man, woman or other. I couldn't prevent myself from killing. It wasn't intentional and was always accepted as accidental. I was afraid to get close to anyone, knowing they would die either at my hand or by being in proximity to me. I even had foreknowlege and tried to warn people away from me, but they were unexplainably drawn to me, and thereby their own end. One of my siblings ( I don't remember if it was a brother or sister) adopted the eleven multicultural children of one of my victims. Society was so awed by the generosity of an individual taking on such responsibility. I knew the kids would be sexualized and molested, so I killed the person before he/she could harm them. I didn't seem to matter, as all eleven of the kids soon became killers as well. They didn't even witness my deed, and yet they all (different ages, different nationalities) took on a mission of cold calculated murder. I wanted it to end pain and guilt of what we were doing, for someone to change the channel or wake me up. I finally walked out into a barren unpopulated area where noone could contact me, in hopes of being spared the knowledge of what everyone was doing.

2) I tried to save a hummingbird I hit with my windshield. It was so tiny and I could see one of the wings was mangled. As I slowed the car after hitting it, the poor thing was sucked in to my car. Our cat JJ was there and he wanted to eat it. He was beside him self with desire.  I caught the bird in a jar, screwed the top on to protect it, and put some air holes in it. I knew the tiny bird would have to eat within 15 minutes, so I quickly bought some all natural lemonade and tried to feed it with a hypodermic. The bird turned it's beak away when I tried to force in the lemonade, all the while JJ was pacing and begging for the opportunity to eat the bird. I knew it was dying, but when I tried to picture the cat eating the bird while alive,  I was so sad and desperate to save it. In the end, the bird died in the jar, the cat lost interest when it went limp, and I put the jar in my purse. I was humiliated by my failure and afraid someone would discover my secret and all my loved ones would shun me as heartless.

3)I drove my mother (again not Nancy) to South Bend, where we tried a brand new restaurant, titled the Ass Hole (the sign was wrong, but that's what it said. I think it's because Vik saw a Passport Photo sign at Walgreens, but didn't see the first p, and was confused.) It was a super swanky place, but it was cafeteria style. We had another woman with us, and we requested that the price wouldn't be over fifty dollars for the three of us, at which time the other woman slapped a $50 bill on the stainless steel counter. "No problem, that will cover everything from cocktails to dessert" the attendant assured us. We then proceede to various serving stations, where our plates would be waiting for us, and highly efficient beautiful servers placed our selections on our plates and sent them to our table ahead of us. It was  like browsing for delicacies.   At the end of the meal, wearing a lovely peach gown, my "mother" stood to announce that we should go on home without her, as she was staying over in the adjoining Hotel, and would return home the next evening.

The other woman seemed unphased, and left in her own vehicle. I went to my car and saw "mom" take the hand of a handsome older gentleman, and they entered the hotel lobby. I wasn't offended, having innate knowlege of the fact that she was eloping. At home, I was questioned by family who couldn't understand why she would do that. I wasn't concerned, just happy for her happiness. The man she was marrying was wealthy and kind. I tried to explain to everyone that she didn't want to bother anyone with witnessing the ceremony, or being inconvenienced by her timeing.

On their drive home the next day the new husband died. She was left stranded and I had to go pick her up. She was melancholy, but not hysterically sad as a new bride would be expected. She touched my arm and said she was happy for the brief time they had together and now she didn't have to worry about anything; she had enough money to last her lifetime and mine.


I haven't had such vivid dreams for a while. I needed to put them down somewhere that I wouldn' t lose them, until I decide if their is any meaning to be gleaned from them.

As I was entering this, I considered how strange that 2/3 referenced my mother (although not my mother Nancy) and then my mom called! I answered joyfully "Hello!" when I saw her number on caller id, masking the sheepish guilt I had for casting her in these incongruous roles in my dreams. Of course she didn't know what I had dreamt (tho it's not outside the realm of possibility in our relationship that she would have known I was dreaming of her.)
There she goes, she called again.

Absolutely no sense of recognition

Picked up a Portals of Prayer, from January 09, and out fell several index cards. Written in my hand. Not sloppily like I was going under, but neatly and intellegently.

Here are the four bullet points I made note of:

1. "Strange Fire" - that's all it said. Strange fire is present when a priest tried to make an offering outside the presence of the True God. But the note doesn't specify that. Just the two words - strange fire.

2." Goldschlager and the three bears" - there is an additional note card devoted to this drunken bear/goldilocks scenario. It ends with the arrival of the EMT's and some bear on suicide watch.

3. "Question - What constitutes torture, what is oppression, what is mere inconvenience?

4. "More questions" - Did the Magi consider regifting? Did they wear the wrong shoes, not pack enough figs, put on a phony face of worship when they realized the King was a mere toddler? Did Balthazar blame Melchior for arriving so late? Did Melchior insist on stopping by the Waffle House in case the food was lousy when they got to the Messiah's house?

I can imagine that I wrote down 1, 3 and 4 during church or Sunday School. But where in the world did the alcoholic bears come into my thoughts? Evidently right between strange fire and the definition of torture. Go figure. Looks like I have my writing assignments for the next few weeks.

Thoughts on the generations

This is the sort of stuff that tosses and turns in my mind when I'm tossing and turning at night, not sleeping. Composed at 2 a.m., and it still makes sense by the light of day.

Thoughts on the generations~

My grandmother is a first born daughter, my mother is a first born daughter, I am a first born daughter, and I have a first born daughter. We are all strong women, but not feminists.

My great grandmother lived in a loveless marriage and was thankful for death’s release. My grandmother was divorced then widowed. My mother was divorced. I married a divorced man. My daughter married a child of divorce. I pray that divorce has been bred out of my family line.

My great grandmother had 5 daughters, four still living. My grandmother had 4 daughters and 2 sons, all still living. My mother had 1 daughter and 1 son, only I remain. I look forward to my daughter’s children, I pray that I may see them become adults.

My great grandmother wrote off her happiness. My grandmother wrote non-fiction and poetry that rhymed. My mother writes fiction and poetry that rhymes. I write short stories and my poetry seldom rhymes. My daughter writes excellent college papers. She rolls her eyes at most poetry.

My grandmother was raised by a Bible belt legalistic father that built fairy tale towers, cities, and finally homes that fell apart. My mother never knew her father, barely knew her step father and was raised by her Bible belt legalistic grandfather who was seldom home. My father was an atheist alcoholic that had trouble holding a job. My husband is religious and a work-a-holic. My daughter’s husband works hard to believe, gives his employer a fair day’s work for a fair wage and leaves the job behind at the end of the day.

Sweet sweet success

Finally, the Social Security Disability hearing has happened. I spent an hour talking to a judge on a humongous television as we conducted a video interview. My rep was sitting next to me, both of us on camera being broadcast to the Orland Park Judges chambers. On the phone was a vocational expert witness that none of us could hear very well, but that was okay cuz mostly he just listened.

Okay - that's the set up. So, an hour came and went and at the end I couldn't tell if it was going well. The judge offered to amend my disability start date to the day when I had my extremely detailed second opinion. That's a difference of three years from when I stopped work due to my illness. My rep assured me that it was okay, because they don't make recompense for the entire 5 years I have been off work. So after a short consult, I agreed to make such an adjustment.
After she heard that, the judge approved my application. I am officially unemployable for full time work. I should be recieving a letter from the SS office stating this decision within 30 days. No one mentioned how long it would take to recieve my first payment, or any idea on how to estimate the amount I could expect to recieve. I just have to wit and see.

But right now, the most important part to me is the fact that I have been officially declared unemployable. I look forward to bandying about the phrase "But I'm disabled" when my family wants me to do something I don't want to do for them, whether it is overly taxing or not. Having the label does NOT make me feel any worse, or any better, about my prognosis, medically. I just sorta feel validated, like I haven't been lying for the past 5 or 6 years.

After we fled the Gary area and arrived in Portage, Erika and I treated each other to a Denny's lunch - I wanted to celebrate with fried food, and so I did. Yummy.