Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Writing Anew

I have printed out my blog and am categorizing the items according to topics.  I want to merge the beginning of my book into a semblance, which allows me to face my past, without getting lost in what I have already written.  I want the ebb and flow of my emotions to level out so I may be more objective in my writing.  I have ridden the roller coaster so much, that I am now in therapy to help me discover how to slow down and enjoy the scenery in my life.

Charles Dickens wrote about his life by sharing the stories of Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, and others.  Hard Times, by Dickens is a wonderful expose on economies. I plan to reread Dickens again as I find his writing is a wonderful methodology for getting rid of baggage.  So too I plan on re-reading Samuel Clemens, Mark Twain, again as my son and his friends from Fowlerville fit the mold of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer. My son and I had a rocky relationship when my ex-husband left. The two of us had to recover in our own way.  I truly believe a family needs a man in the house because a teenage boy, like mine, was not easy to handle.

I had a wonderful neighbor who was Ojibwe that helped me with my kids when I didn't know what to do.  She painted the most beautiful artwork on a box that she gave to my son of a wolf and the moon. She also did paintings on deer skin.  She wove dream catchers and did many drawings that she gave to the "Livingston Parent Journal," in Fowlerville.  She couldn't make money either because of medicaid and medicare.

That is the sad truth artists are always working, but artists with disabilities have to manage the money carefully.  She had dyslexia like my son and encouraged me to get legal pads for my son because the print shows up better on yellow lined paper.  I would sit side by side with my son as he struggled to write his assignments on the computer.  Cuss words were always a part of his assignment as it took him awhile to get started.  It was something I knew I had to be patient with because we would be at the Howell Library and I would let him cuss all he wanted to by typing out the words but not printing them.  It would take a while, but he would settle down and begin writing his English assignments that were excellent stories, by the way.

I sometimes taught both my children because the school was so desperate for substitute teachers that the office would tell me just teach your kids, in their classes anyways, so I did.  My daughter had a natural aptitude for school.  My son was bright, but like Huck Finn he loved to play and skip school. He was bright and managed to talk his friend into mowing the lawn, for me and planned on sharing the $20.00 with his friend, while doing none of the work.  I couldn't allow my son to make all the money, when I realized what my son was doing, so I gave his friend all the money.  This incident reminded me of how Tom Sawyer got his friends to paint the fence white, while he reaped the benefits of a lax lifestyle.

I know there were many obstacles in my marriage, but we always stuck together as a family and I was devastated when my marriage fell apart.  More on this at another time.  I am starting writing anew because when my roommate dropped dead, I threw out twenty plus years of writing for the local newspapers.  I also threw out all my awards.  I was simply overwhelmed.  I may write to my friend Cindy Denby who was a local representative, from Handy Township,  and see if I can replace some of these awards.  More on the awards later.

The funny thing is I was either writing about the police or riding in their cars for wellness checks.  I had so many secrets, I was often overwhelmed.  I plan on writing this section for my book.  For the time being; however, I am just glad to be writing again.  I'll have to assemble some of my articles off the internet and take time to acquire them from microfilm at the Howell Library and see if my editor in Fowlerville can help me as well as my friend Jon King at WHMI radio.  I don't know if I want to be an independent contract reporter again or just write my book.  I may do some writing for the Flint Journal, a much bigger paper than I've worked with.  Time will tell.

Sunday, March 5, 2017

"Fouled Out"​ an Emmy nominated documentary

Tuesday, February 21, 2017 section B, detroitnews.com John Niyo wrote about Curtis Jones a hero for basketball enthusiasts. Jones was moved along the educational system because of his skill in basketball despite having only, "a second-grade reading aptitude." Jones graduated from Northwestern High School and suffered as a paranoid schizophrenic. He died at age 49 in Northville psychiatric Hospital, reports, Niyo.
My friend and former editor, of the Brighton Argus, Buddy Moorehouse whom I had the privilege of working with as an independent contractor, produced the film "Fouled Out," in an effort to highlight the importance of literacy. Moorehouse spoke in Detroit on literacy.

Saturday, March 4, 2017

Organizational Necessity

Today I printed my blog on a Dell Laptop provided by John Moyer of Asahi Kasei Plastics North America and a printer I bought from Wal-Mart for about $40.00.  I am trying to organize my work so I can place the writings in some kind of format with the ultimate goal of writing a book.

Wednesday, March 1, 2017

Old Man

Old man sittin' in the street
Why you lookin' at me?
Do you know more than I?
Can you see it all through your eyes?

What have you experienced?
What have you seen?
Tell me your story
Share it with me
I have the education...
I have the degree,
But you have the wisdom of life and the knowledge that time only renders.
Won't you share it all?
Won't you share it with me?
Can't you see I need... to know
Please... hear me.

He pauses from his gaze and he looks me straight in the eye.
He tells me Life is beautiful.
Live it day by day.
For in living day by day,
You'll understand all that once you did not...
The branch: that stems to the future.
The road that leads to eternal peace.
And as the flowers of life unfold,
You'll see Heaven spelled in gold.

I turn to thank the Old Man for the wisdom that he has shared,
But he is no longer there
His words; however, become engraved in my mind
Words to be shared with all mankind!


Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Trump is Tactless

Trump is everything I despise
How can he be in office I contemplate
My families' voice is silenced under his regime
Not just mine, but generations, you ask why: listen, listen, listen, I cry
We all suffer from mental illness
But we are kind
When on the right medications we bloom and succeed
I received awards from senators and legislators
Sometimes I struggle but mostly I try to believe
That the doctors will discover the right medications for me
I must persevere
I can do no less
Before they dump the dirt upon on all that I have left
I have been foreclosed on
Lost a roommate through his own troubles
Wandered aimlessly
But somehow I've always landed back on my feet
I must leave this world knowing I've made it better not just for my family and me
But for future generations who suffer a malady
I speak aloud because there is so much wrong in society
I had a teacher who taught me "I am only one, but I am one"
Meaning as long as I am here I must be a voice for those in despair.
So I will press on and carry my message
Even if I am on bent knee
And I can only plea
I must leave this world knowing I made it better for not just myself, but for those I encounter in society.
So many within are young generations throughout the world are lost without direction
If one thing I say resonates then I will be pleased
Perhaps one less person ambling in the land
Because there are others like me who are willing to take a stand.

Monday, February 27, 2017

Ramblings

A quiet mind is my desire
As life takes its course
To find that light of fire
That does not dim and wane and does not glow so brightly that it burns and sears the brain
Rendering one at a pinnacle of writing, but places one in a constant of insanity
Creating formulas and mathematical equations such as time = infinity and a proof to go along
Begging and pleading with doctors to please slow the brain, but don't make one a bumbling idiot
With drool on the face, hands stiff and robotic while one struggles with the gait
Shoelaces removed, no razors to shave and clippers taken away from the women who is insane
No dignity left here
Afraid to participate in society as rumors will be shared
Of a woman who dared to live, but fell from the precipice so many times
No one wants to see this woman who is insane
Please God she pleads why oh Lord me
Have you turned a deaf ear
On this writer who had a good career
Trying to struggle out of the void
That society has stamped across her head
Please God I am not dead



Friday, February 24, 2017

Reflection

Her pen went dormant for many years as life seemed to pummel her from her passion in the world. She vowed now to rise from the embers of a harsh life and refused to allow herself to be written in past terms of existence.  She would face the challenges of her dilemma and write because that was her pillar of strength, the God given talent she would hone again to achieve the life she desired as life could tear one down, but only if one allowed it to.

I don't want life to happen to me, I want to happen in my own life, she thought.  As difficult as that may be, she knew her very survival, that which gave meaning to her life; writing, would once again be her salvation.  So without further adieu she lifted the very pen that had been a dead weight in her hand and slowly methodically began her life story, my story.

As a young girl, I was raised by a Catholic order of nuns, known as the Daughters of Charity.  Their influence on me would last a lifetime.  I strayed from the Church based on my adult life, but somehow Catholicism still had a lasting influence on my guilt ridden existence.  It seemed my very life would be that of contradiction. Perhaps if I lived in black and white my life would have been easier, but I live in color. How to reconcile this belief with who I am remained foremost in my mind as the very influence of the Church was my surrogate Mother, my aunt the very embodiment of the childhood faith.  She is ninety years old and I, 53, so how would I ever reconcile my life with my faith or the influence of that faith without completely losing my mind.

Perhaps upon her, my aunt's death, would settle this dilemma, but then there are my three brothers who remain steadfast in the Catholic Church.  I now find myself living in an apartment with a man, whom I love, not married to, with very little money, no car and terrible health problems, but he is the pendulum of balance for me or what I think provides me strength.

We do everything together:  laundry, cooking, cleaning, appointments and so much more.  Public transportation has an advocate in us.  He is my safety net, but I feel compelled to try to be on my own because his health is questionable.  He is a man who knows how to tackle problems, he faces things head on.  Nothing seems impossible with him.  His go to it attitude whether cooking or challenging the difficulties ahead provides me strength.  We are able to accomplish everything because he never sees challenges as obstacles we can't overcome.  Writing remains necessary to my survival to reconcile myself by with my former life.  I have fears, but I try not to voice them.

I am starting to go to the grocery store by myself, but getting lost in Seattle last year on the buses put a pretty good scare into me.  Even though my son wasn't well last year, he did his best to take care of me.  When I think about what happened in Seattle, I realize how confused I was.  I missed my flight home and that was a very bad adventure. Being bi-polar puts my life in a state of disbelief to what I thought was possible as a child.  My medications were reduced and that contributed to my entering mania.  I was only supposed to be in Seattle one week, but I had an extended stay of about four weeks. I left the airport despite having a flight for two days later.  My funds were low and I could not go back to the hotel where I had been staying and sleeping in the airport when my mind was in mania was not a possibility.  I left in a determined trance to make it across a major highway on foot.  It was crazy and a taxi cab driver who was Arabic saved my life when he darted in front of another cab and slammed on the brakes shouting, "are you crazy" and actually I was.  I didn't really even acknowledge him.  I made it into the city. I spent three days at the YWCA after having taken a bus to Othello and walking and then taking a bus back to Seattle.

It has been a while since I first began this post.  I am happy to report I am now on the road to recovery as my sleepless nights seem to be improving.  I bought a car this week and have very little debt.  Just having the ability to get out is lifting my spirits.  My boyfriend has been excellent in being able to help me.  Sometimes I can get disorganized, but he helps me put things back in order.  I am trying to be positive about things since I first started this reflective blog.  More to be shared later.