I’m done here.. for now.

I’ve learned to never say never..

I’ve decided to move beyond Puro Love, Puro Clothespins and move on to another blog I’ve had for several years.  One of several I’m working on consolidating (what’s up with my life?!)

This site did its job in keeping the memory of my mother company during the month of March (and SOLC), two months after she died.

A planned project was connected to the blog.. I’m shelving it until the summer when I have the emotional capacity to handle it.  Plots points are: growing up in an apocalyptic family, with men who hated by using religion as a cudgel.  One who found grace to pull himself out of it, the other who didn’t — the havoc he caused and the final cost my mother paid in protecting him.

Plans for this would include going back to my hometown, dredging up emotions, confronting the past, writing intensely for about a month, and getting back my piano.

Mom’s project didn’t take off because the contact I had with humanity let me rise above my sorrow.  I do regret I didn’t stay in long enough to, perhaps, write more.. but I trust in the writing I did collect over these months in my Notebook and in this blog.  If I know me, the rage is still there, deep.  It will come to the page when I’m ready to visit it again.

I’m also moving on, for now, for two reasons:  1) I’m finding justice in the court system.  Official authorities believe me when I say my brother is nuts and has engaged in criminal behavior, so the pressure for a “Here’s the Truth..” writing has been relieved a bit.  I will feel the urge again to speak this Truth, I know, when I revisit my hometown and encounter the “he’s a saint” vibe.  In my life, I’ve designated myself as a tattle of truth* (another blog post).  I take secrets to the grave, but not those that fool people unnecessarily.. and my brother’s side of the story need the light of day.

The other thing is 2.) Mom.  For close to 3 years, my life was put on hold as I waited for the words to reach her lips to fix what was rightfully her — her authority and right as a mother to call the shots in her own life and the life of her husband.  I worried about my parents, she knew we all did, but she dismissed this, put us on hold.. and in the end, we all went through this tragic, tragic end drama of not being there when she died, and then her death hidden from us for 5 days.  Part of this is Mom’s doing.  And right now, I’ve got my own marriage drama going on, I’ve gotta cope, I’ve gotta teach and be mentally, emotionally, and physically present for my students, and I’ve children I’m still raising at home.  On top of all that, I want to find time to write and pursue my interest in being published someday.  I have got to move on.  And, if I know anything about my mother, she would want me to stop mulling around, get off my rear, get off the subject of the past and move “¡Adelante!”

I’m dead, ya, what can you do?  I’m not there, I’m here, wherever you are.

But you know I’m still gonna tell the story about Jim, Ma.

I don’t care.

     Good.  ‘Cause you know whatever he did, he’s got coming to him, if only in words, Ma.

You said you wrote a book and were going to be a writer.

     Yes.. I did and said so.

Pues, ya.  Do it.  Your girls need to see you do it.

Okay.

¡Adelante!”

     Thanks, Ma. 

***

I’m going to start hanging out at Dad’s.. there’s a part of his spirit that I need in my life right now.. 🙂

Teaching, temptests.. and lightning strikes on the soul..

I’m just going to sit here and ramble.  Maybe I’ll hit 2K.

On my day of teaching:

The most significant thing I did today was help some 6th graders free themselves from oppression.  Of thought, anyway.

Words that glow from the heart..

This is day 2 of my saga.

It’s been going on for a while, but this is the second day of figuring out that we have a major, major problem, deep-rooted.

You know things run deep when you can feel the words you speak begin to glow and flow along a long, long ghost cord connected to your heart.  A filament burning all the brighter when exposed to certain words.

I’ve yet to figure out if this cord is activated by a deep wound I have, or it’s something grown anew.

I am fierce.  I am enraged.

.. but I am doing better today, if only because I said my peace this morning.

What I had glimpse of these past few days, though, is my resolution to counter behaviors that hurt people.  Cursing, raised voices, bad looks.. I have a serious, serious problem with it and I refuse to become callous to what we have all been exposed to.

I may have to tell this story on another blog..

.. under another name.

 

 

 

When you shouldn’t be on the internet.

It’s a bad time for me to be on.  However:

1. I said somewhere I would blog every day.
2. I plan on falling asleep when I get home.  Maybe trying to get up at 4 in the morning and writing for an hour.  See how that type of habit works.

My life is pretty much in shambles.. and I don’t know how to explain it, really.  Even after my mother died, I was living a life of emotional luxury — compared to this.

See?

Bad time for me to be on.

I’ll be returning to my notebook, fleshing out my thinking there — this thinking.  I’ve realized today that I’m the type of writer who cannot create when my emotional baggage becomes the size of an Amazon pantry box.. attaching itself to the front of my chest as though it were a child in a snuggler.

I have to flesh, think, cope and accept.  Very little choices.  Just .. deal.

Bad time for me to be on.

I’d love to move beyond this blog, though.  Before the fruition of today, I thought Puro Love, Puro Clothespins was yesterday for me.  I made that title (and this blog) thinking of my mother who just recently passed.

Now.. it’s just life.

 

Movies.. and a glimpse..

I’d write something, but I’m in the middle of grading (again) and watching The Notebook.

I did have it all all planned out.  A whole sketch and outline, you see, about infatuating over movies.  Two so far — Walter Mitty and First Man.  These movies I can have humming in the background of whatever I’m doing.

I know what you’re thinking.. that it’s the men in them, right?  That comedian from Zoolander and Ryan Gossling (did I spell his name right?), Veronica must have the hots for him.

No.

It’s just something about these movies that reaches deep for me.  It could be the music, the theme of family, the thoughtful, slow-pace of these films.  They’re nice.. the only two of a very short list of films I know I’ll keep with me forever.

The only two. 🙂

Back to grading…

Notebooking Saves. Lives, marriages..

When I wrote this post, my husband had just been diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes.  It’s been a few days now.

A few days.

Usually, I post later in the evening, after taken care of family, been done with my day, prepped for tomorrow.. I’m still at my desk here at school.  Room darkened, no overhead lights, fake lei draped over a little lamp (you get the idea).  I don’t know why, exactly, I’ve chosen to write here, tonight.  I haven’t thought that one through.  Maybe it’s A) the grading I gotta do, B) the fact that it’s Day 1 post-SOLC challenge, and I’m afraid I’ll give up writing forever, C) that things weigh heavy on me and I need a release – I’ve been waiting to do this all day and don’t want to wait anymore, or D) there’s just stuff going on at home and this mock peace of an empty classroom is the best I think I can have for the rest of the day.

At home, there are things being unearthed.  It’s like my entire house is sitting on an old cemetery and bad memories and dead-and-buried response of the long forgotten are conjuring their way through the cracks in the windowsills.  .. I don’t know if you know what that’s like.

This is our first real crisis, something that’s hit a body, a future life-or-death situation (because my husband is in no real discernable danger now), and we’re not handling it well.  Spiritually, I’m in a weakened state, probably bc of Mom and the issues going on in my extended family.  I have low threshold for.. whatever.. because I’m already at my limit.. or it could be because I feel empowered via the writing and don’t take much of anything anymore.  Be simple, be good.  No naughty talk, I won’t take it, that’s all I can say..

But that’s me.

This is where writing saves.

My husband used to write.  He’d fill notebooks and notebooks and notebooks.. with me.  We both were.  One day we walked into Walmart during back-to-school and we found a stack of 5×7 composition notebooks.  Can you imagine it?  No, you can’t, because you can’t find them anywhere anymore (I’ve looked!).  They were these fascinating, flexible, near-pocket-sized composition notebooks and we just filled those suckers with ideas — philosophy, belief, questions, aspirations, love.  We bought a whole case of them, like, 20, 25 or more.  I ended up duct-taping about 3 or 4 together (before duct tape was cool).  But then we ran out and he was kinda done… I think it was work.

Work.

I hate corporate work.. and what it doesn’t to families.*  *But that’s another post..

We had this cool, real-life workshop thing going on where we’d wake up early and talk, write.. meet up again later in the day, talk, write some more.  An on-going conversation that went on for years.. a continuation of what we’ve had since the day we met.

We don’t do that anymore.  .. And I have it deep in me that it lead up to this Type 2 diabetes diagnosis.  When expression between people begins to waver, the manifestation of that need takes on another form we probably don’t recognize right away.  The next thing you know, you’re in the hospital and you’ve got something.

Now you know what my immediate goals are.  My heart is an onion and these are its closest layers.

It’s funny, because hubby was also diagnosed with pluresy, an irritation of the lining of the lungs.  Interesting how that plays out, like his body is trying to make a point.

My life is out of control.  Writing saves.  And I’m hopeful. 🙂

 

 

What writing for a month straight did to me. SOLC – Day 31

Valley Palm Trees.  Just ’cause I love them.

Well…  I’m succumbing to pressure.  My plan was to write about Selena Quintanilla, as it’s the 24th anniversary of her murder.  She grew up less than 100 miles from me, we’re both what I consider “Valleyites” — from the Rio Grande Valley area in Deep South Texas.  I have a lot to say about her, and if you don’t know about her, you’ll know more about her soon.

I’m seeing a lot of Reflection for Day 31 of the SOLC challenge, and it was not my intention to do a reflection for today.. because I intend to continue past today.  I’m just not done.

Not done.

But I think it’s fair to take an assessment of where I’ve been since Day 1.  I mean, that’s what I ask of my kids, anyway.. so, okay.  It’s legit.

Watch me start doing this every month.

So.. what writing for a month-straight did to me.  I’ve reached deep and pulled out:

1.  It’s not about my mother.

On Notebooking for Your Life. SOLC – Day 30

Bittersweet experience today.

My husband & I finally walked into The Paper Place, my favorite stationery story I’d frequented for decades — we went Notebook shopping.

I’ve told you I’m a Leuchtturm girl, but Hugo found some super-cute Claire Fontaines:

The colors he chose were light red, blue and green.  He was attracted the color.  🙂

I didn’t utter a word when we walked in.. besides directing him to the “good stuff” — a display with of Rhodias & Claire Fontaines with a huge selection of spirals.  There were a couple of Moleskines.  Then I ushered him over the Leuchtturm stands, where he selected a pocket notebook to carry with him.

“I’d just like to know your thinking behind your selection:  what inspires you to go for red, blue and green?” I asked him.

We Interrupt This Program… SOLC – Day 29

Husband in the ER, 

So obviously, 

not posting.

My mother always said

you never know 

what’s going to happen,

so take care of it now..

Done.

On Exhaustion to the Lucid Writing State.. SOLC – Day 28

 

Courtesy BrainMD – Why Your Brain is Like the Universe ( a fave article)

I guess today I’ll write about my mother.. and the Writing Process.

***

When I made the final turn onto the major road that leads home, I could feel myself sinking lower and lower into my seat as the sound of the wheels humming on this segment of my trip tried to lull me to sleep.  I thought of my parents, and in a moment, I was there, remembering.

It was a like a door to my soul opened on warm summer day.