Sunday, May 11, 2014


I really did try to let slip Mother's Day unnoticed; I truly did. Yet, with all of the well-wishers from friends and loved ones who know I have borne no children, it's rather hard for me to do. You see, twelve years ago this weekend, I was making funeral preparations for my own mother. I do believe I can be forgiven if I choose to let this one day of the year go by unnoticed.

Two pilots for parents and I loathe flying, but then, my father used to tell people he played the comb, when asked whose side had the musical talent. The answer: him; his ear was uncanny.

But to do so would be to steal the blessings of those who have chosen to honor me, as their mother, even if it is in just the spiritual sense. So, because I have spent part of this past year fighting for better medical treatment for a loved one, I recognize and honor his gift to me. Because I have spent part of this past year fretting and crying that a loved one would not return from the hospital, I recognize and honor his gift to me. Because I have spent much of this past year caring for and easing the fears of a loved one who does not always understand what is going on, and because I will protect and care for him unto his death, I recognize and honor his gift to me.

I would do so for anyone I loved dearly and there are others among my scope who count so, but this one is the one whose health is worsening day by day, week by week. The one who is scared, but does not show it. The one who in many ways tries my patience, but still, for all of that, is loved all the more.You cannot quantify love, anymore than you can quantify infinity.

There is grace in this world, if we care to stop and quell our lesser natures and allow that balm into our lives. There is redemption in caring for our fellow beings that is not found in any work, avocation or pastime. When we realize that yes, we are all connected, as horrible as that may seem at times, and as much of a cliché it may sound, it is nonetheless, true. When we look into another's eyes, we see ourselves in some measure; we see our own mortality and we must not back away from that, because to do so is a supreme act of cowardice.

My time on this earth will end, as did my mother's; all too soon. I do believe though, that in her spirit and in her grit, determination and passion for life, I have come to fulfill the greatness my father wanted for me. In this, I have succeeded in my life. I've done two things for a living and done them quite well. I do this now, as I have always written. I am the person my mother wanted me to be and then some. I have her grit and her courage; her faith, fidelity and love that never dies. I have people around me who love me unreservedly and I love them in ways I could never have imagined; ways that are redemptive, caring, forthright and yes, at times, tough. But I will be forever grateful to the mother who taught me how to be one, even if the children I raise are not my own. Happy Mother's Day, Ma. I miss you so very, very much.

Friday, May 2, 2014


Now that the A-to-Z Challenge for 2014 is over, I can honestly say that I am a much happier writer going “themeless” or at least with something a bit more complex than just “HUMOR AND HUMORISTS”, which was never the knee-slapper I thought it would be, I can return once more to my aimless nit-picking, meandering, diatribes, general nonsense and philosophical wonderings about just how many angels can dance on the head of a pin and is there anybody out there. That is NOT the fault of my awesome team and my wonderful team leader, Damyanti G of #teamDamyanti. I will be side by side with them again next year. The fault was mine in not preparing and not really thinking about how a "theme" can work to one's advantage. Lesson learned; but I am glad I did it because I always come away from these challenges a better writer and with great friends!

Writing about humor wasn't as funny as I thought it would be. Judging from the comments, my family was a whole lot funnier. Next year, I'm just going to write about them.
All of this is in an effort to forestall editing on my own magnum opus from NaNoWriMo 2013, Music of the Spheres, because while I think it has several wonderful ideas, it has a lot wrong with it, and I haven't the least clue of where to begin, as I am not a creative writer. I'm more about ideas, and I noticed when I was writing Music, my characters did a whole lot of standing around and pontificating. Not exactly the most exciting thing for a Sci-fi Thriller, even if it does include the Alien Undead Railroad Underground, or something approximating that.

So, stepping bravely back into the fray of blogging every day on my own whims, which is what I did when I first started “Homeless Chronicles Blah Blah Blah” I decided to write about some of the goings-on around and about Nebraska Ave., 33605, 33602, which I haven't done in a long, long time; I'm returning to my writing roots, as it were.

Imagine about twenty buses going hell-bent trying to keep a schedule, racing in or out, in a giant, tilt-a-whirl thing. Now, imagine smoking brakes, or non-functioning brakes and it's raining. It's THAT much fun!
Three days ago, I had to take the bus to Rose Diagnostics to get a chest x-ray for my pulmonary doctor. Not a big deal, and it's one transfer. I take the number 2 downtown to the Marion Transfer Center, where commences the Bus Ballet. For those just tuning in, the Bus Ballet is where every bus converges into a round-about at the same time, and it is a fine cacophony of brake squeals, snorts of exhaust and bus hornery playing. This is accompanied by near-misses, bus asses heaving into sight, zipping past squared-off windshields, that make them seem oh, so much closer, and just as quickly sinking out of sight, as if below the waterline. It is one of my favorite parts of riding the bus – call me an adrenaline junkie – and I always look forward to the MTC; it's always hectic and that day's was even more so, as I had to run to catch the number 14 to go up Armenia to Rose Diagnostics.

That done and quickly, I skipped back across Armenia to make my return back downtown, to take the #2 back up Nebraska Ave., 33605 to my house. I just made it and the #14 arrived on time. I sat down and was just kind of zoning. I was kind of tired, but was thinking about my last two A-to-Z blog posts. I looked towards the front of the bus and where people usually put their baby buggies, or their grocery buggies, I noticed a wire cage, about 3 feet by 3 feet, with a blanket on the bottom of it. My vision has been a bit worse than usual of late, so I really couldn't make out anything, except what I thought were two ears on the left hand side of the cage. I was on the left-hand side of the bus, in the only open seat.

The two cats were this laid-back. Their owner was so solicitous, but they hardly seemed perturbed. The tuxedo cat was a domestic short-hair, but they looked much like this. As the bus bumped over the ruts in the road, the cats' heads bobbed and swayed along with the peoples' heads.
At the next stop, the man who was sitting on the right side of the bus, left his seat and I moved over and up one and I could see then what was in the cage. There were two cats. One was a ginger cat, red-and-white striped and the other was a tuxedo cat. The pair were laying side-by-side and although it was warm on the bus and noisy, they seemed perfectly okay with all of the people getting on and off the bus. The bus was noisier than usual and had worse-than-normal bus shocks, as in non-existent. We may as well have been riding in a Conestoga wagon going west during the 1880s, but these two cats rode along fine, their little heads dipping and bobbing in time, with the rest of us. They were more well-behaved than some of the kids I have encountered on the bus. Their owner, a guy in his mid-30s, wearing a wife-beater, denim shorts, tattooed, with 'banger signs and chains, was standing by them, with another cart with food, kitty litter and litter box and he would occasionally stroke one of them or talk to them.

When I was homeless, one of my roommates, who was given to confabulation told me that someone had chickens on the bus, and I told her she was full of it. Maybe she wasn't. . . nah, she was, because she conflated everything else.

When we arrived at MTC, he was the first one off, cats, cage, cart and all. I stopped and asked the bus driver if that was permissible as I have a pet who needs to see the vet. Mama needs her annual check up and I have been pondering on how I am going to get her to the doctor. The bus driver said, “Well, he should have had two carriers, but yes it is allowed.” Happy day! Now of course, getting Mama to go along with the bus ride will be another story and probably not a happy one!