Focused at Fifty

"Mom & the Flamingo, Reunited" I dreamt of Mom last night. I dreamt she had never died but was in a coma for the last 10 plus years. She was still alive, lying peacefully in a fugue slumber in some 50s rancher out in the Midwest. It was decorated in pastels. Outside of Florida, she'd hate this color scheme I thought, surveying the decor. Where were the antiques? Where were the dark woods, colonial blue and grey colors? I then wondered, Why didn't anyone tell us she was here? She had her ageless beauty and I smiled. Her makeup perfect, wearing her favorite gold, I knelt down and kissed her forehead. She then awoke from her decades slumber and smiled back at me. "Hello Marco," she stated in a gravely voice. In a timeless whisper and dream-like haze I was off, searching for the perfect gift to welcome her back to the living. From what must've been her Key West life and influences, I had it driven into my mind that I must find her a flamingo ...

Writing project essay: Her name was Kim H. She was a black haired beauty with dark eyes. Loud and brash, perpetually tanned with a toned body to match. She had the same last name as he. She and M worked together for those many years at Houlihans and they developed a close friendship and bond. They had close deep talks, often fueled by alcohol and drugs. She was definitely manic, possible manic-depressive, although M never saw that side. But she had a temper like hellhound. And that's when M knew to back off! They could've been an obvious couple, should've been, except for one glaring fact known to most which was often laughed about. No matter though, as they'd still often introduce themselves as Mr. and Mrs. H, even fooling old college friends visiting Philly! And then Kim H. died suddenly. She died of a drug overdose. It was a horrible crushingly difficult experience which foreshadowed the beginning of many death's of M's friends during his 20...

Got to Sheryl's in Philly for her annual Passover Seder. She lives up by the Art Museum. Relaxing out on the porch doing paperwork, watching the world go by. I was just thinking how much my Mom just loved this porch & used to so the same thing when she would visit. It was her favorite spot. Being a city girl herself, Mom practically grew up on her front stoop! 😊👍

It took him years to realize that even with his tumultuous relationship with X, way back into the 90s, there were good aspects to it other than the old ratty teddy bear staring back at him on his grandmother’s rocker. For a couple years following the break-up there was a sense of bitterness and lost dreams which lingered. But now, as he brushed some dust off of the bear’s soft furry head, he smiled slightly. There were good memories there. They just needed to be given time to rise to the surface after being buried underneath the emotional scars. No, there wouldn’t be any reunion with X, but just a silent private acknowledgement that there were once good times and they deserved to be recognized. Wouldn’t life be so grand if we could get through all the pain in the blink of an eye? But unfortunately, he thought, that’s not how it works. You have to go through the pain. It toughens you, thickens your skin and hopefully drives you forward. And only after that, sometimes in the su...

My window is open this breezy Spring night. Something is ever so lightly dinging in the far off distance. It's not the bamboo chimes by the willow tree. It's not loud, not annoyingly so, but just enough to be mesmerizing, like a light gong far enough away where it doesn't bother me, but close enough to be soothing. I'm intrigued but sleepy enough to let it hauntingly lull me to sleep. It gives me peace.

"Perfectly Imperfect"  I did so much work this weekend I injured myself. Nothing major. Just a pull somewhere. Ha-ha. I recuperated with a well deserved voddy and tonic with plenty of those limeys. YUM. Well worth my effort. As I sit here writing this on a late Sunday evening, the evening dew is wafting into the den, aka computer room aka library. OR... whatever the Big Ragu and I wish to call it that day. The air is so dewy, fragrant. I am just memorized by it's scent, along with the light clinkling of the bamboo chimes. It's blowing in and I'm just drinking up the scent. So relaxing. I smell hyacinths and am drawn to wander outside about the yard, late dark at night, following the heavenly scent where ever it draws me. It's so rich, fragrant, and makes me drunk with Spring. I picked some flowers this evening. I just had too. The Big Ragu said no, just let them be. I get his  reasoning. He was worried I'd pick the ones we view from the kitchen ...