Posts Tagged ‘Love’

Death is inevitable. A mystery, and then some.
Last breath. No pulse. Everyone gets one.

Histories’ littered with Rituals & Rites–
How to deal with the dead. Then put Death out of sight.

Wakes and Embalming, Cremation or Dirt–
For loves left behind, these don’t quench the hurt.

Perhaps faith is best. That Substance of Hope.
The only evidence–of what we don’t see.

Comforting faith, I’ll know for sure, when…
Death knocks on the door, and asks for me.


“Garrett loosened the grip of his mother’s arm only slightly. He did not want her dashing into the street again. Her loud mumblings, sharp scoldings, were drawing further unwanted attention.
He said nothing.

She did all of the talking.
When she finally stopped, she cast eyes of hatred, resentment, hurt and pain at him. Garrett kept his eyes straight-ahead. He did not have to look. He FELT her glares.

It was Mother’s Day, of all days. All he wanted was to get Mother out of the house, have a nice, quiet lunch, maybe even have a semi-normal conversation. Didn’t happen.

At first, things went well.
Then, she started. The waitress was “too round” (this she said in front of the waitress, who fled away in tears). Then she began shouting obscenities, “fucking” everything and anything, in excruciatingly familiar, angry voice.
He could not drag her out of the cafe` quickly enough. The manager almost called the police. Happy Mother’s Day.

Garrett was the only of her children who remained to care for Mother.
He resented his sisters and brother for this, sometimes. They just wouldn’t–perhaps couldn’t–deal with Mother. Part of Garrett understood this.

Mother had always been irrational, with brief periods of what looked, well, “normal”. She had shock treatments, spent time in a sanitarium, was given lots of different medication over the years.

It was not his fault, or anybody’s fault.
It wasn’t her fault she was like this, either. Not really.
Yes, it would be helpful if she cooperated, listened to brain experts, took her medications, and refrained from misusing them, or alcohol.

But if she were okay, if her brain functioned right, she would know and do the right things. Mom was not okay, and never was okay.

She suffered. Daily.
Unfortunately, that meant those around her, suffered, too. Sometimes dearly.
The damned voices in her head, tormenting her since a young woman, would not go away. Their father left them, long ago. This, Garrett resented, most of all.

Now, Mother was becoming much more than Garrett, alone, could handle.
As soon as they returned to the flat, he would make the call he so dreaded.
He loved her as best he could.
Nobody seemed to understand that.

“It saved their marriage, the masks. They could no longer look at each other. Turns out, their faces were never what attracted them, in the first place. It was all just sex. Pure, unadulterated, sex. Hey. Whatever works!”



“Alice Wondered. Her most recent antics–playing tricks on Maid and Cook–landed her in a bit of trouble.

She was forced to endure the next two days indoors, locked in her room. Why, she was not permitted out, even to eat! Once a day, Maid would fetch her chamber pot, exchange the waste-filled with clean, also bring her a bowl of warm, soapy water, with which to freshen herself.

Cook too, would come around, with meager tidbits: Breakfast. Lunch. Supper.

Alice hadn’t meant harm to Cook or Maid. Not really.

The girl was simply bored and alone. Alone with her imagination, a room full of toys and trinkets her parents had given her from their frivolous excursions about the globe.

What she wanted, was a brother or sister…or somebody…to share time passing. She was going mad, she just knew it. When she locked Cook in the hen house, she thought it was funny. Cook did not. The old woman may have forgiven Alice, except Alice’s sense of perception and time was not right. She had forgotten Cook in the hen house, as she moved on to the next great idea inside her head. Alice was so easily distracted!

Maid may have forgiven Alice, too. Except that the girl had gone just too far, snooping in her maid’s quarters, amusing herself with Maid’s diary. Maid had written very personal things in that journal. Things she wished no one to discover. Especially Alice’s parents. Oh! If they discovered the dowdy maid’s feelings towards the master of the house…what would she do? Where would she ever find work and security?

In her room, alone with…things…Alice Wondered.
Her favorite companion, a rather funny toy, a stuffed bunny whose expression remained quizzical at all times, seemed to wonder, too. Alice was certain both Rabbit and she, would be happier down a rabbit hole, than be here.

See: http://serendip.brynmawr.ed…

THE STORY: “When asked why they tied the knot, they did not reply. At their ages, they’d earned the right to ignore stupid questions. Plus, they thought it would break-up routine.” 🙂 ————————————————————————————— Visit

PHOTO: Teenage girl eating a hamburger, 1956. By Hank Walker THE STORY: “Betty was fed-up with boys. Tired of dating jerks with wandering hands, she decided to initiate ‘Date-Myself-Night’. Once a week, Betty would go out by herself–to a movie, maybe for a malted milkshake, or a meal at the local diner. She resolved only to go out on dates with herself, until the boy who could treat her as she treated herself, would make himself known.”

THE STORY: “She finally found the love of her life. Frederick the Snowman managed to melt her heart. Unfortunately, she made his heart melt, too. *Sigh*”




(PIC FROM REBECCA LITTLEFIELD, PINTEREST) THE STORY: “The agreement between them, “no strings attached”, was more than mutual, at first. Then? Well, somewhere between meaningless trysts and the passage of time, the heart lost its way through the monster-y mud. Nothing was left but attached strings! A bare-bones-lonely place to be.” 😦

THE STORY: “Beneath the piles of fabric, and ‘neath the bustle, too–she hid her untamed lover! His affections raw & true; Her husband would just kill him! Her mother disapproved. But her lover, he did love her! So, t’was the only thing, to do. She sneaked him out the parlor, past the garden gate; He scurried from beneath her skirts, ‘Til next forbidden date!”