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Monday, December 9, 2013

Monarch Butterflies Black And Yellow~


Its seems so long ago now that I think of it. In many ways I was a different writer back then.I noticed this in reading some of the writing I managed to save from the old days-printed old fashioned like on white paper.
What I managed to save is small morsels of the way my mind used to think, much differently from now in the ways of writing.I suppose, with the shifts of life and with the stages we pass through we change, and so with it our style of writing.


This piece of writing I share with you was written and posted on my blog within an old writing community called Journalspace, October,13th,2003.I dedicated it to a writing friend named,Tearsong.
And of course you must know...I re-edited this piece against my better judgment as I typed it out to you.Much didn't change however, other than the odd added word to add to the vision.My vision now.
Hope you enjoy this simple piece of long ago.

~Yellow And Black~

Olivia kneeled down on the freshly mowed lawn.
The sun beamed happy rays of warmth on her crisp cotton sundress spread out over her knees.
A slight breeze set free a thin tendril of blonde hair which Olivia had neatly tucked behind a butterfly clip in the morning.She grabbed at the freeing hair with poetic hands and swished it into place.
Above her is a Weeping Willow tree,lightly swaying in the afternoon breeze-a haven for little singing birds that would serenely fall in tune.
Olivia looked up to the blue sky past the Willow tree-holding up her arm to shield the sun and breathed in all the sweet scents of the earth.She was feeling profoundly complete, and at peace with herself.She then kneeled over, and with a gentle stroke of her hand, pushed aside the dried grass that remained on the stone.A warm smile entered her face with feelings of love surrounding her.

Olivia sat for sometime there celebrating the memories and, honoring all that needed to be cherished, when suddenly, like a symbolic gesture, a cluster of butterflies bestowed her soft moment with surprise.
She stretched out her thin arm and one by one the gracious Monarch's softly landed.They danced up and down her arm, fluttering their wings in glee.She marveled over them.The butterflies brought about the sense of well being-a peace and hope of everlasting faith to carry on.Whatever that faith might be.

A warm wind with a familiar scent surrounded Olivia, out of nowhere she noticed when the Monarch's arrived.Then they no sooner took flight and circled above her head three times before forming a halo like-shape and vanished as mysteriously as they came.
Dazed, she stood up and brushed down her cotton dress, smiling the whole while as she then gathered up her things and slowly walked down the pretty treed path, the path from which an hour ago she walked up.Streaks of yellow and black fluttered behind the unknowing Olivia the whole way.

The soft breeze of the afternoon tousled loose a few dried leaves around to the point they covered the single stone under the Willow tree.No sooner the light wind blew free the leaves and sent then tumbling away to show the delicate carving in the stone-a mother's name and etching of Monarch butterflies.Black and yellow.

Dee L.

Tearsong was a blogger on Journalspace from which I inspired to dedicate this writing to.If my memory serves me right he had lost his mother.I felt her.I feel many things I don't understand.







Sunday, December 1, 2013

Snow~

They say there's going to be snow falling in these parts shortly.I am bated with anticipation like a little girl sitting near the living room window waiting for the spirit of Santa.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Pour Some Sugar On Me.


For the moment nostalgia finds the quiet corners of my mind.I reminisce of long ago in a song, 'Don't know what you got till its gone,' from an old eighties band called, Cinderella.

While I measure the music with memories I find myself in that era instantly, drinking it all in through a lipstick-stained-glass-all-cool-like-and, ah....innocent, until proven guilty, through my rose-colored-tinted-glasses.

My mind races from one weekend to another, ripping up the dance floors from Vancouver to Point Roberts with friends and, crazy excited over featured bands such as, the Headpins, Trooper, Prism, Lee Arron, Loverboy, and Nazareth... not to mention other bands that frequented Vancouver (VanHalen).
This was the place to be in the eighties if not for the kick ass music coming from LA. The amount of night clubs stretched from Vancouver through all our municipalities were numerous.Not a weekend would go by without hitting any one of them with a treasure drove of friend's dressed to the nines in, short skirts and dresses, balancing on spiked heels with fishnet stockings and, maybe a short leather jacket-carrying a purse with no cell phone but a little black pocket book of phone numbers and, a small pad of paper with poems of love and heart ache scribbled through each page like there wouldn't be a.....oh, a tomorrow.
And yet there was, so many tomorrows left.

I met him in this large nightclub downtown Vancouver called the 'Metro.' He called me babe.Eventually we fell in love and called each other babe.
He had better hair than I did. All guys had better hair then us girl's. His was golden blonde and curled down past his collar. Once driving in the passenger seat of his camero two guy's in another car honked at us.I never laughed so hard. "That's what you get for having better hair than a girl!" I said. He smiled and gave the two guy's the middle finger out the window.

Every Wednesday was a ladies night somewhere. My friend Lee and I would meet up at the gym after work and then head out to the bar (making no sense what-so-eva).
Ladies nights were free to the ladies and drinks were cheap, bringing in the men later to pay full price.
Eventually the thrill of a ladies night and male strippers dancing through the smoke of dry ice to Bon Jovi with screaming girl's in the bushels-set around the dance floor like prey waiting for their next meal became, hm,  annoyingly? boring. Seems Lee and I were growing up.However, we wouldn't realize this just yet.

Franks Place in Richmond. This was a night club where Lee and I would see all our old Star Dust roller skating friend's. And this was the place that some of those popular boys from the old Star Dust roller rink first noticed me, at least with a new eye in my new legal age of drinking (coughs)....
Seems for the first time in my life I was popular.Well, so it seemed for a blink of time.
I was much more mature than that young teen roller skating around the rink under the disco ball. I was also confident enough to go to the bathroom without an entourage, and walk through the night club alone to find friends when they would all scatter to the dance floor for the next ACDC song.
"Ah...that was the times...."

And so, I'm not your fool, from Cinderella plays through the speakers at the club and all of us girl's look to one another and start to sway solemnly on our bar stools.Countless guy's walk past us asking for a dance. Trish gets off her stool and walks to the dance floor with an over bulked up Italian. The other girl's wander off to the bathroom and I sit swaying to, nobodys fool-living inside my head and bleeding heart of all breaks in my heart.Rewriting the song in the absence of a man with golden blonde hair that was better than mine.Wondering how I'd ever get over knowing his-child.Fooling myself with walking away.Fooling myself in staying away.
Edge of a broken heart,from the band Queensryche pours over the dance floor now, as couples slow dance.The  DJ announces this being the last song of the night.This, the best known indication that the 'ugly lights' will be coming on, which, many who are sober leave promptly and the buzzed and drunk one's linger merrily without care.We all left promptly and sober, though I wished the latter in hindsight.

The next day on the radio the band Cheat Trick plays the song, Flame,and I crumple to tears.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muhFxXce6nA

For every poem and song written across a sheet of paper, school binder, jean jacket, hand and arm, throughout all those precious years up to stilling the urge to write no more, a heart bled.And the perfect song for the the moment (ironically) played on the radio to the beat of your heart.

Its safe to say in all of the eighties adventures throughout our time much has changed, and, well, not.
I lost the rocked out big hair and certain high rise jeans I used a coat hanger to zip up.I lost my innocence but never made a fool-again. I gladly watched the mu-lock disappear and witnessed short hair on men.
I said good bye to platonic guy friends, taking up serious relationships.
And seven years later I married the golden-blonde-haired-guy who called me babe.

Now.
I pull out from my jeep visor an old cd one of my daughter's made for me one summer.(We played that cd all summer that year). I place the cd in the player and turned it up.The first song , photograph, from Def Leppard.
My daughter's have since grown.One has left home early and produced a mirror image of herself, to my full heart. And my other daughter is a teen with wings who flutters from pillar or post and sometimes rocks it out to Def leppard and Bon Jovi.Also to my hearts content.
I may have lost somethings from the past but I kept a few. I never lost my love for music that came out from the eighties. Neither have I forgotten where I was and who I was with when I first heard a song.
I carry every image, feeling, and memory as if it all happened yesterday.
I still have all those girlfriends from back then, only seeing them died off a little with the end of Star Dust's-end to skate reunions. I see Lee here and there because she runs a roller derby and frequents the valley here. She's asked me on occasion to go out to a ladies night with her. I'd reply with a laugh.Its just not the same.

In the end and down many roads there has been trials and tributes. I can't say anything was perfect then nor now, only that we choose things that draw us a little comfort, like the drawing of home brings us.
I can't say I may of went down any other road, least divert from this one.I only wish to go back every now and again and imagine how it was, when, well you know, when time went a little slower and you couldn't wait to grow up. And when all these bands were cool.You were cool.

I can't end this post without this one last visual.Because I'm an eighties girl.
The second song in the cd player is about to play. I jack up the base a little, zip down my short leather jacket and push down the button on the window. Any minute I'll be back in the eighties. Any minute I'll find a long stretch of the highway. And any minute I'll be singing to my favourite eighties song,
"pour some sugar on me." Def Leppard.





















And Then There Was A Poem~


I stand over you and wonder
how beautiful you must have been
before your fall
and
crash to earth 
with a sorrow of
the crying birds
who
fought for you
under the bluest of skies
with the deepest of
hope
along the rushing river
through the mountains with
the pain of knowing
it wouldn't last
before you'd turn
with your last breath
chewed away slowly from the
pine beetle
notorious
through the
forest so deep
of yesterday with
a slow progression of time
a little too late
beetled away at the
 lush green of your
bowing arms
with no mercy
and
withered bark
as far as the eye can see
devastation
and
with every sunrise and set
laying now 
under the stars 
and
upon an early morning
with a sky of clouds of moisture
crying down with a crash
and
angry thunder upon the distance
over your rutted grave
holding on
to
a miracle in the end
spreading beneath the ground
an almighty gasp of life
reaching up through the dirt
in a colorless forest
a green so bright
a root so tight
a grandmother's voice
long gone
“pine away dear little one
pine away…”


 http://www.env.gov.bc.ca/bcparks/conserve/pine_beetle/pine_beetle.html

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

I wish I had...in Mexico

Tonight's wind was unusual. In fact? it wasn't a fall wind as we would know it to be, but a tropical breeze feathering up images in my head of my visit to Los Cabos last spring.

Oh, how I could go there right now ( smiling in thought) and how I feel this pull to get up and go and, well, find the well being along the warmth of the sand and tropical breeze over looking turquoise water during breakfast on a patio laced with rot iron railings and friendly people sipping coffee and tea just like me, though I was looking into the loving eyes of a man, who....waited half our adult life to walk together hand in hand along that sand we faced with the waves rolling up on the beach where... the morning sky kissed my cheek and gave a little wink to new beginnings with familiar love in a land unlike our own, but, a land of wonder and possibilities, and....hope.

I found you that evening looking out over the water and wondered what you were thinking. Were you thanking your blessings for all the different moons gone by to see this one? I wondered and spoke none from the moon catching the glint of water in my eyes with the thought. What if? What then? How would I live......

And cause we've come so far and survived this long I couldn't turn away, not even now, not then when you needed me the most and, now, in this time where I search for my own peace, right here where you are, no matter the place.

I've forgotten till now just how we used to be and how we couldn't have imagined where and what we'd have--now.Such cherished memories of little one's growing up with hair like mine-eyes like yours and again, little one's they share in our wonder of all the years that have passed with yesterday.

I wanted to push your hair from your eyes and look into them like before, back then, but, I didn't. Instead I wove my arm through yours and looked up into the same night sky at the same formation of stars looked upon twenty-six-years ago with....deep heart of yesterday and searching heart of tomorrow-wondering what was next and what was left of the sand falling through our fingers of time.

The beautiful morning sun rose and shook my hand-a thankful greeting. I looked at him from across the breakfast table without him knowing-sun in his eyes-and, for the first time I seen the years play lightly on his face-around his blue eyes and, I adored him all the more silently with good intentions to say.....and I didn't.
I just didn't-
and wished I had.

~~~~
Music of influence~I Won't Give Up On You~By Jason Mraz


























Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Not Just yet.Not so Soon...

I feel fall coming in the early morning
and
I smell it
and 
see it 
with the difference of appearance of the rise over the mountains
and the way the sun holds it's tongue in cheek
knowing
oh...
knowing that
I don't want to let it go
not just yet
not so soon
of summer
when there's long days of frolic and adventure
with discoveries of
dragonflies and butterflies
and four leaf clovers...
spread above the biggest and widest open blue sky
seemingly going on forever and
shaking hands with neighbours clear across land and oceans
to the other side of the world where
hummingbirds travel
where people move on roads made of pavement
dirt and gravel to places of amazement with
trees of hundreds of years old
in such places as Vancouver Island and
the redwood forest in
California
camping under the old growth canopy
with stars poking through like diomonds
and banana slugs creeping along the picnic table
and dinosaur size ferns that set feathery strands of
imagination into motion with
a kaleidoscope of dancing images just like
the next scene through a rain forest along a board walk of
miles and miles of green on either side
and a canopy of ancient whispers
through trees with dancing moss and
the ocean breeze coming up forward to
the opening of the mouth with silky sand along
the longest beach with windswept trees stretching still as a rock
over looking an old native community that has long since fallen asleep
with eagles and seagulls and waves that roar
there is this and that
and so much more
oh....
summer
how I'm not ready to let you go
not just yet
not so soon.




 Images found on Bing.


Story of an eight hundred year old tree.
http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/story/2012/05/18/bc-800-year-tree.html






Sunday, August 18, 2013

Welcome Back Dear Friend~

You would wonder how anyone would survive such a plane crash, but....one did, our dear writing friend, Dorrie, aka, Westy.

The last post in her blog I believe was in March, or so.... where Dorrie's family members were dear in keeping us posted with Dorrie's slow and yet seemingly long recovery from a coma to opening her eyes and following her family members.
From what I read Dorrie was in very bad shape. I feared for her terribly-shocked still that this had happened to her. Dumbfounded as the rest. Heart broken with many. And prayed for her wildly in whispered tones from afar. Hoping for the best and wishing on the tale of a comet that.... we would see the traces of her words gracing our screens once again.
Today I saw-

Welcome back dear friend~xo

http://dorrie-westy.blogspot.ca/



Saturday, August 3, 2013

Camping In BC To Dad's Eight Track....Revised.Gagging Peels Of Shits And Giggles...

There's something about going through a summer in BC without camping that tumbles my spirit like a fallen pine cone. In many ways I regret not taking the layoff over summer. Rattling around in this big ass building on the cusp of a Canadian long weekend is killer. Most have evacuated work in short, leaving the building I work in with a sense of creepiness as if Jack Nicholson was about to pop out with a death grip around the neck of Steven King. Seriously.... I needed to get this pony of a weekend started, only? I was the only one not going somewhere. So instead I am left to reminisce of all the years dating back to childhood where camping was thee, official yearly vacation.

Dad had an old chev van he camperized when I was young. It was an unusual green. Dad called the van 'Lizzy' when it would over heat going through the Fraser Canyon (BC). You would hear dad say, "come-on-old-Lizzy!" over top of a Johnny Cash song being played from an eight track.
Dad made two hammocks inside the van, one in the front of the van for my older brother and one in the back for myself. Beneath, positioned in the middle of the van was mom and dad, the table coming down to make a bed, which, in hindsight, looked to be just like a family of canned sardines. That aside, we were thrilled to be camping and really...didn't spend a whole lot of time inside-anyway. Although, "ahem," I'm pretty sure this is where I gained this nasty case of reoccurring claustrophobia. At any event, "coughs," nothing a mini flash light and a dance to summon up moon rays hasn't cured.

As the years went on my final camping trip with mom and dad was to the BC Cariboo, where at fourteen I was allowed to bring my childhood friend, Trish.
To say we were utterly bored was an understatement. To say we were boy crazy was another understatement, because, I'll be damned....if the last boy we'd seen was last seen about fifty miles back at some remote gas station. It makes me think now...of that song with that line that says, "I-shaved-my-legs-for-this?" (Humph!) Nonetheless, Trish and I made an adventure out of our trip with all sorts of hair brain-teen-ideas that left us with shits and giggles.

There we were, at this beautiful open lake that stretched for miles with a handful of small rustic cabins over looking the lake, and no boys. I can't tell you how many times I must have asked mom when we were leaving..... She'd say in a soothing voice as if she were on some kind of mystical-vacation-tour, "oh, in a few days, honey...." and I do that typical teen eye roll and leave her to her epic nature tour with an Agatha Christie novel.

One day Trish and I followed a narrow pathway that wound around through thinning trees upon a small bluff above the lake. We were so bored. And too old to play any childhood games, so, while wandering about we caught glimpse of something red on the lake through the spindly trees, and had, Had! to investigate.
Coming to a small clearing on the bluff we caught sight of a red canoe. Bloody amazed we were, because? well, we had thought we were the only humans since we left Vancouver! let alone teens. And the perfect thing about this red canoe was? well it had boys, two of them, who soon realized we were two crazy girls and jacked up they're rowing arms at break neck speeds to safer ground.

And so the boredom of Trish and I continued, what with scaring the only boys away and all.
One day we had a reprieve in the weather and the sun came out full strength. Trish and I decided to hang out on one of the more remote wharfs not too far from the cabins. We lay about in our bikinis hoping for a tan on our light freckled skin and chat about teen things, every now and again dangling our feet in the water listless like to return back on our bellies tanning our backs. One particular time while sunning ourselves there on the wharf Trish went to rise up on her elbows from her towel and, "coughs!" popped right out of her bathing suit. Peels of laughter ensued, so loud mom and dad had to ask later what in sam-heck were we doing, just like they wondered about all the screeching they heard one day out on the bluff.

Another cloudy day rolled in at the lake and left us teens more bored than ever. I asked mom again how many days were left of this chronic-pain-of-camping, and she said the usual, "oh, in a couple of days, honey."
And so with that, dad this warm and cloudy day let Trish and I take the row boat out on the lake, providing we wore those ugly tangerine life jackets.
It took Trish and I sometime before we got the knack of rowing (taking turns) and out from the wharf area-dad watching on. Some ways out on the lake I turned back to see dad making his way up the path to the cabins. I realized Trish and I were on our own and we were gonna find us some boys. Instead however, we found a small Island not far from where we were staying, abandoning the notion of boys and finding some adventure. We rowed close to shore eyeing up the beach line and scaring one another with the thought of bears and creatures with fangs, and, stories of ancient Native spirits haunting the Island with mystical powers that turned you into.....boys. I mean frogs on sticks. Eventually Trish and I abandoned the idea of venturing foot on the Island, noting our imagination getting the best of us, and returning to the notion of....boys.

We rowed and rowed that little white boat of dads out and away from the Island and further away from the cabins before we realized the lake was much bigger than we had originally thought. We could see small dots clear yonder across the lake that might be campers in trailers, but we couldn't be certain. We giggled at the thought of arriving at another campground, her and I, however, the distance far exceeded the will of surprise. That was when we realized the darkening of the clouds and wind sweeping up and hurtling over the lake. And that is when fear rose up and touched us like a bell commercial, only the reaching out wasn't as comforting. Also? this was when Trish and I had our first camper-girl- fight. For the life of us neither one could row in unison in a dead of panic. A crack of thunder rumbled from the distance. "Row! dammit!" we said to one another. She had one oar, I had the other, it was a crazy mess of circles and screeching at each other. The wind began to whip up even harder and graze every inch of our bodies with a cool stormy chill. The only saving grace was our life jackets shielding our upper half, otherwise our bathing suits were a poor choice of attire in a full ass storm now cruising across the lake.
Trish and I rowed our hearts out. Some of the time it seemed as if the wind had long tendrils with fingers pulling us back. We seemed so far out. Land if you may, which was where our cabins were, seemed undeniably farther in a storm than when we set out in calm waters, which, made our shrilling mind even more desperate to make it to shore. It was much like a nightmare, trying to scream and yet nothing comes of it.
Eventually Trish took the oar from me and rowed, then I took over and rowed. This repetition proved to gain accurate aim for land, not too mention break-neck-teen-speed. We were now in sight of the cabins and dad standing up on the small bluff watching over us. I figured he'd worry. But dad in his usual form just scolded me for going too far out. Trish and I were just glad to get our feet on land.

And lastly? knowing we'd never go out on that boat again-we did.
I bugged and bugged dad for the boat, where he relented big time, knowing the trouble we got into the day before. Eventually I wore him down ( a teen specialty) where he allowed us the privilege of the boat, but only providing we stay close to the shore, which we agreed and went no further than ear shot of the camp, though mostly we ended up rowing around the larger of the wharfs near the boat launch area.
Trish and I thought we'd try our hand at fishing. Dad said if we bait our fishing hooks with pieces of hot dog wiener we might get a fish to bite, and-was-he-right! nibble they had! especially this one particular large rainbow trout that seemingly followed our boat around.
Trish and I must have been out there for an hour watching this big trout lazily float around. We couldn't get over it, the fish was so docile. Eventually Trish and I came to the conclusion that we could probably hang dad's fishing net in the water and scoop the bugger up. Then we did, to peels of hollers of excitement. This didn't go over so well with my parents for various reasons I found out later. You see? apparently we are not allowed to screech, holler, bellow, whistle or laugh- no longer out from giving my parent's a heart attack.
 It was really too bad, because, Trish and I were so proud of catching this huge trout, aside from dangerously standing in a swaying row boat with fits of shit and giggles and holding up this heavy net with later we found-a six pound rainbow trout.
Once dad realized what we had he came down the path to the wharf hushing us.For the life of me I couldn't figure why he was trying to put a lid on us-we were so proud of our fishing exposition. Later I would find out that scooping up a fish with a net was called, "coughs," 'illegal fishing,' which...freaked Trish and I out with visions of going to jail. Course mom smoothed that particular teen nightmare away with a light hearted chuckle. Also later, we'd find out that numerous campers including the owners of this place said they'd spotted that old fish days ago, lazily swimming about near shore.
Eventually dad had got us off the hook, so to speak, with the conclusion from others that the trout had got caught up in fishing tackle and was in the throws of his demise, hence saddening Trish and I with pangs of relief from going to jail. Fish jail.
Needless to say when all was in the clear and forgiven mom made Trish and I clean the fish. And you know what that produced....

gagging peels of shits and giggles.






Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Save Me~


 For all of the miles keeping me out
save me~

In the soaring heat of the afternoon 
to the lonely glow under the moon
her spirit sleeps with childlike dreams
and nightmares
awakening beasts
dragged into never-ever-land with flesh eating cold
under an umbrella of stars piercing the folds of the galaxy
the insanity of it all seemed hard and scary to understand 
twisted fate and unicorns who couldn't help
but turned black into the night
chasing nursery rhythms in her head from before 
with papa sitting near her little bed
a song 
a promise of a new life in a new land 
bound by the notion of
freedom and prosperity
erasing hunger
that follows her in sounds of a rumbling stomach through the desert with little meows
and whimpers of despair where
chasing dreams of simple joys seems all so inadmissible
facing the almighty fence of divide
in and out of the shadow of the wolf 
now upon them with purpose
and with misery of her papa
she'll not understand this moment for years to come
of her papa with the silent but
loud penetrating eyes of love saddened with fear
and the thought of being
so near
so close
and so very very far away from
the driving thirst of a homeland gripping at the knees of a little one
streaked with dust and blood with sentiments from
resonating images of loved ones pinned inside her shirt
suerte' luck she whispers and looks into the eye of her papa
not understanding the misfortune
looking into the face of a coyote
looking into the eyes of a wolf
and then into the sight of a nun



save me~

www.desertwater.org 

Photos from Pinterest.com 

A book to read, The Lemon Orchard by Luanne Rice 

 Post by Denise Law 2013.




























Monday, June 17, 2013

To See Cabo Through My Eyes~

There's many special places at the resort that we stayed at in April that lay gently with purpose and reason with me. This particular place I began to adore on the second morning.Its a lovely patio just outside one of the resorts buffets.
To an ordinary person this would seem nothing more than a patio, though to me it was my own secret garden of happy thoughts,one of many I would hold secret to myself with a quiet smile.
You see...its difficult to explain how a place truly means when you feel so strong-a-feeling. In fact? I find it tremendously difficult to explain it in words, though, hm, I'll try-
The morning sun lay against me like a warm blanket.
I feel content comfort as if the world could not do me wrong.
I live in the present for the first time in eons, and feel extremely grateful for this new arriving mood.
I find the simplest things like the local birds entertaining, especially the ones with vibrant color enjoying the remnants of someones meal.
 I sit across the table from my husband in a easy going way-back against chair in no hurry.
With no concrete plans for the day I am left feeling open to almost anything like a school girl-no interjecting mind with some obscure ball park to be for another one of Lil's ball games, or thought of work.
I am for the most part fancy footed and free, and truly? genuinely, feeling it.
We could do anything we wanted, even eat bad things to clog our arteries, from which bacon became my crack.

Still, the words do little justice to these easy going, sun filled, mornings.Everything I looked at as simple as the rot iron wall fixtures were a detail I didn't miss, nor the fountain on the patio that the birds drank from.
To find mornings such as the ones I had on this trip was special in so many ways. I'll not forget the view over my white coffee cup looking into a plume of palm trees lining the walkways accompanying vibrant colors of flowers in my life time. I knew to make mental note as it being a grand gift to see what I could see where others have not ever left home.Dearly lucky I was. Quietly I'd smile and wish? I'd wish I could share this view with everyone I knew.

Love to all~
Dee.










Friday, June 14, 2013

A Dance With Poetry-Rhythm For Reason?

How do you write a poem with no rhythm or reason?
because a poem doesn't need to ryhm
and a poem needs not to say of it's reason
more so over in it's purpose
if you should be so inclined to see
the trees bending in the wind
dancing to and fro
summer gusts of dry plume
small circles in the air
dancing on the chapped
dirt road leading to
and through the orchard with little sound
though stirs of small birds
flapping their wings in the feathery dirt
wakefulness to summer
plump Mac apples
spawning of the bees
and mosqeetoes dancing through
bushes with clusters of raspberries
heart shaped leaves
clarity has me
contradictions are free
sometimes there might be
rhythm for
reason
and purpose to be~

Dee L.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Chucklespace.Inspiring Blog Award Nominee-Me-And-You

 In all the years of writing online I don't think I've ever been nominated for anything....course, things would soon change.Stephanie, a fellow writer on Twitter has nominated me for;

 I suppose its true, being nominated is the ultimate special feeling. Who needs to win at this point? In many ways I've already won.With that being said? there's a slight catch to this being nominated (ahem)...

Rules of the Award:

Display the award in your blog to show that you have been nominated. 
Remember to link back to the person who nominated you.
Share 7 things about yourself.
Nominate 15 other bloggers
Notify your nominees
  
Seven Random (possibly odd and scary) Facts About Me:

First of all I've never p-a-r-t-i-c-i-p-a-t-e-d in one of these thingy-poo-poos-ever. I have however seen the likes of them many years back when I belonged to the first original Journalspace writing site, though, hm, I assumed a position of being on the down low from joining in on any reindeer games, simply because I happen to think my list would have been as generic as the dandy lions spreading out on my neighbors lawn.
Now however? I think otherwise. I wanna join in on the fun. Thanks Steph!

 Before I do my list I'd like to tell you a little about Stephanie and how I came upon her.
I met Stephanie on twitter. I don't know if I started to follow her or she followed me...neither matters at this point other than I'm pretty fortunate to come by her. Stephanie is a writer who writes so well in my opinion that I question my own damn-writing. There's a few out there that mercy me.
Stephanie has this ability to make me laugh out loud at my computer screen, whether she is tweeting or talking about her unsafe neighborhood in her Blog-she's seriously hilarious. I adore hilarious.
I look forward in getting to know Stephanie more in the future and, thank her in advance (coughs..) while I'm still in a good mood for making this blasted Random List.

Stephanie- http://www.chucklespace.com/inspiring-blog-award-and-seven-facts-about-me/

(1). Scary or odd facts about me? I'm a procrastinator here in there until I fight it off and leap spontaneously off my ass and embark on large projects that MUST be accomplished that day or I lose interest.

(2). I'll not gift myself some of the pleasures other women gift themselves. Such as expensive make-up, purses, jewelry, spas and so on. I wore dollar store make-up for years before my husband got mad at me and dragged me out to buy decent make up (laughs). I learned soon that if you spend a little more on make up it goes on literally like silk. My daughter gave me my first pedicure before I went to Mexico.So pretty.Think I'm hooked.

(3). I stress over stupid things. I'll stress all day over the very things I encourage others to forget.
I'm stressing now.

(4). I hate it when people don't like me, period. I don't know why that is, because...some days I couldn't give a chit!

(5). I believe its really me putting out the street lights when I drive, not the tilted head light my husband mentions in all four of the cars we've had in the past. I believe at one time Lily had a ghost. I summoned it away and I never lost a kitchen item again.

(6). I like driving a stick shift. Two months ago I rammed the jeep into our Mazda at the END OF THE DRIVEWAY!.

(7). I like greasy-concession-stands at ball parks my daughter Lil-plays at. One doesn't sell fries however. Who-the-hell-wouldn't sell fries at a ball park????? ( eye roll....)

-My Nominees Are-----and forgive me for not finding seven. I thank you with my writing heart for the inspiration you give online and in life.

http://captron52@blogspot.com

Jackie Byrdsong: Twitter

And lastly? (evil grins..)

luannerice.net

PS.Remember neither one of you need to feel you have to join in on any reindeer games:)






 



Thursday, May 9, 2013

Vacation Continued.Now With Poignant Moments..

 Its probably been said a million times over but, if you're on a roll with writing? go with it, dammit.
With that being said I've come to the conclusion that I'll pick the most poignant moments, or not so poignant of my trip to Mexico- than at length- from one blade of grass to another (goofy grins).

My Poignant Moments~

 Arriving at the Hotel Riu, Santa Fe, and feeling the reality of it rather than the endless surfing online of pictures and comments of the resort itself.

 All mornings at breakfast at the hotel. Everyone of them seemed especially calm and therapeutic, and, special. I'm not certain why, well, other than we had nowhere to be, and no schedule to follow.
 The buffet breakfast was vast in selection and scrumptious in flavor. I was made by my own free will-a new breakfast eater.
The the last mornings of breakfast we sat in a small courtyard just outside of the large buffet dinning room.
The warm morning sunshine sat on my shoulders warming me out from the cooler desert temps.
Varies round tables were adorned with crisp white linen and placed with cutlery and a linen napkins. I sipped my coffee leisurely and watched each morning the small brown birds flying around a two tiered water fountain and on up-to a few large rot iron wall sconce. One morning I watched those same brown birds I've seen in my own back yard fighting with a stunning yellow bird, then a gorgeous red bird, for morsels left on a plate.I've pictures of them.Will post here soon.

 The roaring waves and how they could be calm one day and build a wall the next.
You couldn't see them from the beach lounge chairs because of the somewhat steep incline the beach had outside our hotel. But if you were to take your beach towel down a bit you could be set up like a stage to the show. One particular afternoon while my husband (tried) to play tennis with a colleague, I grasped the golden ring to spend a little time alone on the beach. Poignant that was to me, and simple.I was in a freeing element hard to describe. I brought with me a cold beer from our room, which is rare of me to drink beer, let alone drink alone. I sat there in on the beach, stage and all, sipping that cold beer like it were the juice of the heavens, letting the liquid slide down slowing like a good wine. I soaked in every aspect of the beach with an amazingly... calm heart.

 The water taxis. They'd come and go from the beach out front of our resort, pulling people on and off with the swells covering the beach. This vision was particularly fun to watch, even to participate in, which I had days later with peels of laughter.
There were times that no water taxis would temp a landing on the beach, the swells were too large. Other times were a bit risky, though, appeared manageable, but not without a good laugh from me watching one particular exit.
The swell came in and so did the water taxi, plunking out one male tourist waste deep in water, holding over his head his young wife's bags.The water taxi then went out with the wave, waiting for the next wave to safely come back into, ahem, (throw) off the young lady (lmao). I watched with great interest the next swell and wave that brought the water taxi in, and held my breath. Like a cartoon in slow motion I watched as the young man waded into the water to retrieve his young wife-her arm outstretched to his and his to hers like an old painting I once seen, when, the swell began to back up and slowly take the boat out. Fool would have it the young girl wouldn't let go of her hubbies hand and they stretched their bodies farther than humanly possible, when, unable to hang on to one another any longer, or having the sense to let go-the girl plopped head over ass into the water (plush!) and I couldn't stop laughing. Course my day would come.
 I boarded and disembarked like a lady, or a seal, in peals of laughter. That alone was the best excursion-ever-boarding and leaping on que.

 Poolside at the Geritol pool. The resort has many pools but this one is more centre of the resort and quieter.
Mainly families and older people milled about the pool and around perfectly placed loungers under shade and palm trees.This particular day after lunch my husband and I found our selfs in a row of deserted loungers in the shade, a row away from the large pool. We read a bit and snoozed. The warm afternoon wind rustled gently the palm trees over head, as did the rustle of small birds.We were weary from the first of nights lack of sleep.Before we moved ourselves out of building five and into building three, we endured the late night drunks coming to their rooms all hours of the wee morning, including those crazy Canucks from the Island-stagging it. So, there we were slumbering away on our lounge chairs when suddenly out of nowhere we began to hear the cackling voices of the Golden Girl's, all five of them in swimwear attire plunking themselves right down beside us, five in a row. Hence my naming this particular pool-the Geritol pool. Two of the five ladies full of spunk and vinegar left three of the ladies for a game of pin-pong. I smiled at that, though minded my business behind my sunglasses as if I hadn't heard. The remaining three ladies chattered a spell until all got quiet. I then looked over and all three were fast asleep, one with her mouth slightly slack and open, creating images in my mind of a rambunctious morning they must of had. Again I smiled to myself as my writing mind began to type.

 The last night of vacation at the Riu, Santa Fe.
I hadn't thought I'd survive without my family seven days, but I had. In fact? I surprised myself by feeling a sense of panic that our vacation was nearly over-I felt I had only but started to settle in. There was much more to do, more to see. Two more days would of been wonderful.
With that said the last night we joined "the ladies" at the show. It was a game show with five appointed male volunteers, some American and some Canadian.It was a hilarious scene of different games, from which a Canadian eventually won, but not before they played Bruce Springsteen for the American's and Brian Adams for the Canadian's, having us all cheering the top of our lungs.
 When the nights end neared I felt this sense of pending end to everything that made things so perfect, so exciting and yet light and blissful. Both my husband and the two "ladies..." now dear friends, walked slowly talking back to our buildings.
The evening air was warm that night, unlike the cool evening wind prior nights. Various flower scents caught a breeze and showered over us, as me meandered down one of the wide paths. About this time all was quiet around the resort except a slight noise we all heard behind us. Two momma dogs puttered shyly around the gardens, foraging as it seemed for a meal. Both the "ladies and I" let out a chest full of heart. Both the odd breed of momma dogs looked to have breasts full of milk, leaving us to believe there were pups somewhere outside the grounds of the resort. For a moment we just watched them and speculated their lives and how they were found to be alone, trotting side by side like sisters. Soon however they disappeared, and we had to get the notion in our heads that little could be done on our part.It was then when the I realized again what was outside of the pearly gates of this beautiful resort.....hardship.
And so with that thought I had to tuck it away to say a final good bye to the "ladies." We all embraced like old friends and swore we'd email one another-I have yet to do so. But I will.

  Last day.
Morning breakfast was different-it was sad. I thought I'd be eager to go home but, I...well, lets just say I wasn't willing to give up this fantasy that took me away from the triggers that occasionally caught my emotion. Gallant I was in the end, strutting through the lobby and being in the places I needed to be in for our departure from the Riu.
Again awaiting us was that big-shiny-blue-bus. The long drive to the airport was met with myself quiet and studying every step of landscape along the way. My writing mind was active.
Before I lost sight of the inlet area of our resort location I spotted more than the usual paragliders floating high in the air attached to various boats. It was a scene right out of a tourist magazine, one I'll not soon forget, what with the island and Lovers beach in the foreground and blue sky and aqua water.

 The airport from the front.
It looked nothing like the back end where we walked the tarmac and into an uneventful, vast, cattle corral.
In fact? I was stunned at the glass front of the airport building and the modern elements, course, inside was even more amazing to me, well, considering our arrival.
Once through customs from which (coughs)....I panicked of being trapped again without a cigarette, open doors led us into a wonderland that catered to travelers. The duty free was awesome-bought a pretty bottle of white rum and coconut, which, hm, I keep forgetting I have. Once through the duty free a vast selection of eateries and coffee shops were available, like an open food fair with floor to ceiling windows over looking the air strip. I was elated. No, I was relieved to see the modern conveniences simply because it made me feel a little closer to home, being that I had overcome my good byes to Mexico on the bus on the way here in small increments. With that said, and a reasonably tasteful Starbucks in my hand? I then downed two travel tabs and slept like a bobble-head almost the whole way on the plane to Vancouver.I woke to rain. Go figure.

Dee~xo

 




 


 


 

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Vacation Continued.Is everyone from Canada?

 The drive from the airport to our destination-Hotel Riu Santa Fe, Los Cabos, was about forty minutes of complete and utter excitement, and a bit of culture unfamiliar to us from which passed outside the bus window.
 Dusty. I noticed each car that we passed was completely dusty, then again anything on either side of the freeway wasn't paved, least of all in some sections where businesses stood old and in clusters.
Much of the landscape reminded me of Kamloops BC; dry and desert like.The closer we got towards the coast we began to see big box stores, golf courses and eventually coming down near the water with the freeway hugging an amazing coast line (one I'll never forget) and the many rows upon rows of resorts with clusters of Palm trees. Most importantly 'Palm trees.' I adore them. I know I'm-far-from-home when I see Palm trees~
By this time on the bus-I've sipped at that cold Corona in my hand down to almost empty. I feel light and easy for the first time in what it seemed like eons, chuckling inside my head of the difference between Canada and Mexico.I couldn't have chugged anything in a moving vehicle at home, or legally had a conversation with myself with my hands waving about theatrically like (coughs...)
Shortly after that thought we turned off the freeway and followed a narrow road. The bus turned right onto another narrow road that lead down to a large arch where the bus was stopped, identified, and told to proceed on to the hotel. Either side of the road was perfectly manicured grounds.In the foreground you could see the impressive Palace Hotel, also on the same grounds as the Santa Fe, which we were staying at.
The Palace looked like Aladdin's home by all measures; very princely like, that which it's guest's could visit the party grounds of the Santa Fe but the Santa Fe guest's hadn't the access to the Palace. It was quiet over there.I peeked through the foliage (coughs..)obviously the Palace guest's were partying with the Santa Fe's guest's-"ahem."

 Exiting our shiny, big-blue-bus to the open doors of the Santa Fe was thrilling."We-had-arrived" I screamed in my head with excitement and crossed my heart. I was still alive. No plane crash or attempt on my life was revealed......"coughs!" go figure? Just then I thought I should probably get over my neurotics.

 Entering the lobby dragging my suitcase behind my husband I was found stunned at the beautiful open lobby, and small birds that flew fanciful from one large rot iron chandelier to another..
I was then handed a strawberry margarita by a very pretty-short-employee who smiled and greeted me with a, "hola." I knew what she said because my daughter Lil is studying Spanish in high school.
By the end of the trip I learned a small hand full of Spanish words, though, found myself saying "hola"  frequently back to the large numbers of well kept employees that never passed me by on any given- lovely paths, court yards, pools, bars, lobby, restaurants, and beach, were not without a smile and greeting.
The employees of the Riu were extremely hard workers and very gracious, even if some didn't know a lot of English, they smiled and helped the best they could. That said, pointing went a long way, so did laughter.

 Our first full day at the resort was met with an amazing morning of full sun and warm winds. The beach was of white sand and stretched for miles in both directions.The water was amazing, aqua blue in colour. My heart pounded with beats of excitement when I saw the waves crashing in on the beach.One particular day the waves were massive, nothing as I've ever seen.I spent many moments giving up beach loungers that guest's clambered around for a simple beach towel on the beach to watch those amazing waves roll and roar.
With our bodies caked in suntan lotion my husband and I began our three mile trek down the beach with carefree steps in and out of the water-destination? Los Cabos Marina.
 Once past the string of beach resorts and dozens of vacationers mingling on the beach, the marina came into view.Gorgeous boats floated gallantly with a leisure hand.A row of fishing boats were busy strumming up fishing excursions and feeding the fat seals from the back of the boat. With every step we were stopped and asked if we wanted a water taxi or a deal on a excursion. Politely we would decline and smile, while still walking. On occasion a witty local would say something to make us laugh, like one man who called my husband Casper.And another few local salesmen who pointed out my white ball cap with Canada embroidered in red on it, and, said they were from Canada too, with a silly grin.None of them ever said,"eh." Presuming they've not been to my country. Speaking about countries? you know when your in another country when....you don't see a Tim Hortons coffee shop for seven days, and? can't find a decent cup of coffee on your whole trip.Just say'n is all.Everything else from food to cold beverages was bountifully delicious."I'm crazy-for Coco Puffs!"
Sorry.Lost myself there.

The marina was a buzz of tourists for sure, adding to the economy almost single-handedly.
Every open bar, cafe, restaurant, and numerous vendors on foot and in the market were vying for your attention. If there was poverty in Mexico, it was hidden miles away from the tourist's.On our way home at the end of this trip I did however notice in passing the dusty dirt roads and shack like homes along the freeway and up the side roads. I felt a sense of guilt for what I had and what I had just experienced in a vacation, a rare vacation.It made one wonder of the wages given to the locals that worked endlessly- so it seemed at the Hotel Riu, leaving one to wonder if a job at one of the many resorts along the beach were considered prime employment. And if so? Perhaps they were simply the lucky ones.Hm....(wandering mind).
 Within the sanctions of the resort there was no thought or whispers of the countries struggles.With million dollar yachts and cruise ships in the bay one could not help but to indulge in all the pleasures an all inclusive hotel wraps up with a shiny bow, featuring wealthy people in the bay and cocktails poolside.And a dose of guilt.

 The second night at the resort while milling about and drinking cocktails in the open courtyard we met two of the most amazing, down to earth, Canadian women. Both friends.One from Yellow Knife and one from Calgary. Both I believe might have been in their early fifties. I called them ,"the ladies."
Throughout the rest of our vacation we met up and bumped into the ladies on many occasions.Once in town at the Harley Davidson open patio, by chance for afternoon drinks, and a few times at the hotel watching shows on stage.We laughed so hard everytime we bumped into eachother (such stories were told). And one morning I met the ladies for breakfast where we cried for one another with personal stories, which still I feel deeply rooted in my heart-that morning.Those lives.One and all. The same pain. And the same healing near the aqua water on the veranda.I'll most likely not see these women ever again, but, hm... I'll not forget them.

Till next time. Building five and the group of Vancouver Island guy's stag.And five beach weddings.Oh, and, is everyone from Canada? Canadian's invade Mexico.

Dee~






Monday, April 1, 2013

A Post Of A Thoughtful Read-The Book-'Letters.' Luanne Rice And Joseph Monninger.

 I feel slightly pensive this morning.
Sometimes writing to myself helps, though, in many cases what I've written rarely goes as far as the deeply rooted pages of unpublished work.Today however I have little care of my privacy and what may come to light in my writing should I become unguarded.With that being said,little traffic comes my way and I should bother none to this point but to write to myself, as many do in their blogs.

  This morning I craved for tea for reasons of my brain and its thinking of it as an elixir for calm. Course we had none and I opted for the sounds of perking coffee than the whistle of the old kettle, which I wouldn't have minded.
It is a quiet morning here and the sky is a true blue.On any given day such a sight from a sky would have one fanciful, though for reasons clustered in my head and heart my cup seems half full.
I think of Bobby at this moment.

  Bobby was a long time writing friend whom like many of us found ourselves here, trying to make a new home for our writing, and, well,in the end before his writing disappeared all together-he wrote in what I call tongues, or for a better meaning,wrote between the lines, something I often did myself over the many years of writing online when I felt the need to exit the very emotions that bottled me up- that were ever so close and personal.
In the last days of Bobby's writing I read between the lines.I used to prize myself secretly for having that ability to read people,however, sometimes it was met with sad findings.In this particular instance I believe Bobby's last posts were of that, sadness and the inability to scream and cry from the highest mountain of that he suppressed in his writing.Of that a marriage broken and no words to say in fear of it being true.
 Oh,how I wish Bobby were here so I could tell him how I can relate.I wish I could have told him by a woman's perspective and a friend that the travels through life brings about changes.That the one and only constant in your life has all but grown and changed course-needing you less and less in ways she couldn't tell you, in ways she knew it would take that dagger and split your heart in half.
I wonder if she told him or he simply just figured it out.

  Its been a long road.

 I wonder just of late in all the trials and tributes of life,and the terrible traumas experienced in families such as mine over the last few years, that,I have come to a place of familiar fading feelings that were shadowed through the many-unexpected family traumas.And that of excruciating trauma's which threatened both my daughter and granddaughter and,recently my husband with melanoma,where, I have come to a place of me.Somewhere in all the lengthy hospital visits I lost me.
Should I be so vain to think of myself? (hm)... guilty I feel.

  Yesterday was a civil day between my husband and I.I think he senses all this time we've grown together has a fading feeling.I can't say those words out loud from the fear he might suspect his love stronger than mine.Or should it be the love in question? certainly the endearments live strong.

  I wrote this candid post originally for myself, though underlying it was a new book I began to read last night that made me think of the many woven connections of two in a marriage and how dearly I related in small and loud ways.
The book is a collaboration of Luanne Rice and Joseph Monninger, called, The Letters.
The two main characters in the book are of a husband and wife who, unlike myself, lost a child, though, if not fighting for my daughter the loss might have been closer to relating.
The book.(I haven't read tremendously far into it yet,though...I could have easily if I hadn't wanted to save my reading for nights to come). The two characters of the book Sam and Hadley,have all but separated their ways after the loss of their son in a northern plane crash.Both Sam and Hadley have not recovered emotionally and have set out on their own. Sam is in the north searching with a guide his son's crash site so he can make closure, and Hadley is in a cottage off the Maine coast,painting with a ghost she feels comfort with in her time of bereavement.In this time of separation they write letters by pen and paper back and forth to one another.(So far some of the letters make me feel that either one of them are ready for a divorce,though both seem to speak of it as a preparation that a day will come of reality.Personally I'm rooting for a reconciliation,but any reader would naturally wish for happy endings.)That said,the letters back and forth dabble with the happy past,letting the reader in on a past full of heart and simple adventures,though later marred with alcoholism.(Sometimes we see whats happening and how it affects others yet, hm,we wish it away and not speak of it until its too late).
I have yet gotten to the middle of the book and,well,quick frankly feel deeply invested to be there and to its end before I rather wish it to be-its (that) passionate for me.I rather savor the story and wished in some cases the book was much longer,however,one need not write more than the point taken from finish to end-I've learned this in my own travels publishing, meager as its been.Or not.
 From this book I feel lessons to be learned.Not of how one or the other has written the book but,in the ways of two souls apart dealing with the same anguish in two separate ways.A marriage that has broken, though, for all purposes through letters has or seems,brought the two together, or seemingly is bringing them to a better understanding of one another.

 Throughout my short read thus far I cannot stop thinking of course of my own marriage and husband.
Perhaps instead of a few harsh words or statements and suppressed anger and frustration one could simply write (letters)The thought tumbles about in my mind like a life line.

  And so in ending this post (as the hours have passed) I should tell of how I came upon such thought and book, well, outside of what has been written above.
The book arrived in a form of a gift,one out of a few birthday gifts from my parents, celebrating my birthday early as I'm away for my birthday.Mom knows I like to read Luanne Rice's books and knows I will on occasion twitter back and forth to Luanne, though mom has no idea what a twitter is.
What mom doesn't know is I also am aware of Joseph Monninger on Twitter.What mom also doesn't know is that (and knows now by the utter shock on my face when opening the book of Letters)that I  had wished to read this book-had not mentioned the book to her at any given time with no real reason-and was not in the means of gifting myself such the pleasure or had.
Its all quite ironic to me.Not only because of my life's position and relation to the book but its cover-the image of wooden lawn chairs which I'm all so familiar with as in comfort imaging I tend to barrow.

  For me? its like reading old friends.Most likely because I know who the writers are and consider them as such.
Its different reading a book from which you may know a person-your inside their head,and slipping through the threads of their heart.

  In all of this I believe with age things happen for a reason.And sometimes I believe in six degrees of separation, which might matter none to this situation other than a connection.
It is like this....I was meant to have this book, simply-
in this moment-
at this time~

Denise Law
Saying it out loud
not under cover
with love.

 http://luannerice.net/the-letters/
 http://joemonninger.com/






 




Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Writing With Journalspace Years In The Past.Good Friends

 Here I am staring at the computer screen with my mind in a total whirl, grabbing for words and meanings to explain just how I feel about a time and a place where Blogging all began, and with who.

 It was a long time ago.People have moved on and others caught the fever with all the up and coming new blogging sites over the years. We however? were a bountiful group who thrived under the radar of many in the beginning, before writing online became a crazy notion of freely expressing yourself.
A small group of a thousand when I first joined the writing site of Journalspace, ending just before the big crash of the site years later at just over 32,000 members.

And so---It was a long time ago, I know. Some of you who find my blog may wonder why I occasionally make a deal of our old writing site. I'll tell yeah. It wasn't the site itself but the many people who formed close friendships there that made the site what it was, simply.
 Everyone was a writer. From every class to creed, no matter who you were, someone read your words and made you present and accounted for as a fellow writer with purpose, need and compassion.
No one was better than the other, except maybe Smotlock, who, well, thought he were the lord of the flies. No matter of that of course, the entertainment was free. Many cared deeply on a whole for one another and would follow one's post's richly hand over foot, until our little writing community got bigger and bigger....and then swiftly died, leaving the many of us lost and scrapping to find one another and a new home for our words, our feelings.....and now? finding out of the many great losses and tragedies of other dear writing friends in present day, from which I come to this post with a heavy heart.

Please read the link below. It'll shine a light on the reason I post here today.
http://journalspace-revived.blogspot.ca/