Thursday, May 22, 2014


It has been over three months now.  The last chapter of my love story is harder to write than the first but I must tell this so I can move on.
A family member will ask: "Grandma, why do you put such personal feelings out on the internet, why do you put your tears out where people can see them?”
I answer: Because I write. That is who and what I am. Words are my breathing.
Here is my story of love and love continuing after his body no longer keeps me warm, after his nibbles on my ear no longer bring my giggles.
It happened a couple of weeks after they had taken his worn out body away.  There came a loud clap from the bedroom, the kind of clap that Ed used when he wanted my attention, when he decided I had done enough talking and it was time for his say-so.
I went to the bedroom in a hurry, surprised, looking to find what had happened.  Oh, just a shelf from the little bookcase had fallen.  My little three shelf bookcase, not Ed’s, sitting on my dresser, with a messed up array of knick knacks.
I walked over to find that the shelf had landed on one of Ed's handkerchiefs, crumbled as though he had just pulled it from his pocket.  All of his clothes had been given away and I was puzzled as why this lay on my shelf, how had we missed it. 
Picking it up and something fell. His keys! His house keys which he had not used in two years. He had wanted them when we made his last trip from the house over eight months ago for a flu shot. There was no need for them, I had my keys, but he wanted the feel of them in his hands and I searched diligently.  Pants pockets, dresser drawers, under the chairs but with no success.  "We're late honey, let's go. They will turn up."
And now they have turned up in one of his good handkerchiefs, the soft cotton with the drawn border around it, a monogram of curlicues, probably one of the expensive handkerchiefs he had brought home from John's estate.  John, his brother-in-law, his good friend, his buddy in humor and the quick quirp.  His buddy who was waiting to welcome him.

I hold the handkerchief because his warmth is on it.  Something else falls out.  A butterfly.  A butterfly encased in silver.  A butterfly, the green of the sea, with a wave of light coming on to a sandy shore.
How did this get here?  The necklaces that I create are all in the other room.  They are never stored in the bedroom.  But look again, Mariam, this butterfly was not purchased by you. Later I would search through my color print-outs that I keep of all of the stones I buy from around the world and this butterfly is not among them.  It has come from the sea of space. 
Later I would check with others and they could not tell me the name of this stone.  Later I would make a necklace of cat's eye and stylized silver and a bit of China jade and I would buy a couple of green blouses to put in my closet of blue blouses. 
I can wear it with my tiger eye bracelet which I had made for Ed and he wore constantly, even in the shower, and it still has his feel.

At this time Ed is still with me.  His arm surrounds me when I wake up with the morning sunshine on my bed.  I can hear his answers when I ask my questions, asked so many time before, "Ed, where did I put such & such?"  I can even feel his worry when I cross the street, double checking traffic both ways.
Then came the night of the 8th.  I won't remember the month, but the date will stay with me, along with the 18th when Ed left.  I was watching an evening TV show, rocks spread out around me, finding the right pieces to fit for a necklace.
A loud crash came from the patio.  It might have been one of Ed's claps, only much louder.  I dumped my rocks in a heap and rushed out.  There on the concrete floor of the patio lay my case of earring supplies.  It had fallen from my work table, silver hooks and sparkle stones lay all around.  Durn it, what happened.  I was putting together special earrings that would be for the ears that Ed had bought when his 86 year old mate said she wanted her ears pierced.  There had been great reluctance on his part.  He didn't want any holes in the ears he nibbled.  I explained I wanted to be pretty for him.  He thought about it overnight.  The next morning he handed me the bills for the procedure. “Go for it, kid.”  The next week he would help me pick out butterfly earrings that would be his gift for me.  The butterfly earrings he paid for arrived broken and now my earring supplies were all over the place.
It took me a minute and then I called out to the dark sky, "Ed, are you telling me something?  Ed, is this a message?"  No answer, the sky remained black, no moon appeared.
I picked up as many of the supplies as I could see in the dark, went inside, turned off the TV, put away the necklace I had been working on, and went to bed.
It was that period just before sleep, not awake, not quite asleep, when I heard very clear, in Ed's voice," Mariam, I am telling you I love you."
His usual words when talking to me were "love" or "sweetie-pie."  This was a serious address when saying "Mariam" and now he was firmly answering my question, “Mariam, I am telling you I love you."
And he left me again.  There have been no further arms around me in the morning, no further tickles to my ears.  I still ask when I can't find something, "Ed, where is . . . ?" and I hold the tiger eye bracelet that will forever have his warmth, and wait.
Ed wanted to believe when I said “We will be together again.  We will come back and have more time together next time.  We will come back and have six kids, all as special as Fred, and we will learn to dance and we will travel to see all the places we saw but not together.”
He said he believed, but I could see just that little bit of hesitation.  He wanted me to be happy.  The thirteen years we had together were so special that I know we could have a special lifetime. 
He left me telling me he loved me.  He didn't say he would see me again.  I can only wait.
This is my story. It is a love story telling you that love continues even after the worn-out body has left.  And I write because these words are my breathing and my wishes and my dreams. 

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

BUCKET UPDATE - Is This Futility?


April 02, 1905 – July 24, 2001

In case you’ve missed
The latest bucket list
This is for you

News Flash about Old lady with holes in ears

Special Alice is Fashion
Removed starter crystals without mashin’
And put in pretty pearls

But old lady wasn’t as sharp
She couldn’t change without warp
Now right ear bigger and curls

Flash – Flash -- on Kreating Earrings

Amanda’s Kreativity
Is very Splendifity
And now she is teaching me how

To make gemstones dangle
From my ears they now jangle

To match my necklaces – Wow!

Travel Writing Class

I’ve been a little bit baffled
About places I’ve traveled
For writing a story I need a sign

I wrote to neat instructor Dan
 about ways
Maybe Travel agenting
 in the olden days
He said it would be fine for this 
story line

Bathroom upgrades

Still packed and waiting
Still pacing and hating
What’s the change-over date
When can I move and uncrate
Or need I cry again???


Trying to find my way
Find a goal for every day
Several churches are among my Searches
Although I know - God is on my patio.

Sending to Ed

In the morning I’m no longer crying
I’m trying, sweetheart, I’m trying
But I miss you so hurtfully much.


Is anyone out there?
Reading my stuff
Writing for space
Is much too tuff.

If my words are meant to be
Send a comment so I can see

A word from you and I’ll continue to try
Just comment -  maybe:   Hi – or Sigh – or My My

"When everything seems to be going against you,
remember that the airplane takes off against the 
wind, not with it. "

–Henry Ford

Tuesday, March 18, 2014


My father’s voice would come strong across the supper table, “Tell me, what is the worst sin of all?”
We all knew the answer but we had to wait for his rant to work itself out. 
“Do you know?  Tell me!” he demanded, “The very worst of all?”
He had a family surrounding him, a wife and children who had heard this before.  We realized that something in his day had brought a disagreeable situation.  As a child, as a teen-ager, as a grown woman I have listened to his routine and let it slide from me without bothering to understand.
Well, Daddy, 50-60 years later, I have to tell you I’m guilty of your sin.  I’m guilty of the very worst. 
Today the response comes in an old lady’s voice.   Sometimes 86 is considered ancient but it is the child giving the required answer.  “No, Daddy, tell us the worst sin of all.”
The worst sin of all?
Here are my father’s booming words.  “Don’t bother feeling sorry for yourself.  That won’t fix whatever is out there hurting you.”
Today I hear and I vent my hurt to a stuffed sympathetic gorilla. 
“Oh, Sunny Boy,” I tell my sympathetic gorilla, “Just look at my hair.  It’s straight out.  Why can’t I ever get it to wave and curl like my friend Urssy’s hair?”
Sunny Boy gives me that look that tells me I’m kidding myself, curly hair isn’t the problem.
O.K., O.K., Blows have been coming at me straight and strong. 
My love left me a month ago today.  Even as I type the forbidden tears break away and come to fill my eyes. He left me so peacefully, carrying my heart with him, gliding away in the light of the full moon.
The hollow he left will never be filled but I try as he wanted me to.  I will turn our apartment into a cozy cave for one.  I will be accepted back into the world of friends and family.
This doesn’t call for depression.  I have a strange sort of comfort because his love remains warm surrounding me. 
However, using my father’s words, the fickle finger of fate points and chuckles maliciously. 
When I finish my tale even my father would say that I had the right to enjoy the dark seeds of sorrow.
I live in HUD housing.  This helps with finances but also imposes restrictions.  As a low income resident I can accept those restrictions or go find someplace else to place my bed. 
All residents were advised that bathroom plumbing in every apartment would be replaced.  This inconvenience would be handled by furnishing the resident with another apartment for the time of repair. 
On March 5th I received notice that my “stack” (one apt stacked on top on each floor) would be next.  My bed & TV would be moved on March 10th.  The resident packs up anything else wanted and takes it over.  Everything must be removed from bathroom so pipe men can tear up the plumbing. 
To add another complication my sister Nancy had planned their visit from Texas at this time.  Let’s see what is now on my plate.  (1) Rearrange my apartment, dispose of older furniture, obtain a smaller set.  (2)  Visit with sister and meet her new boyfriend.    (3) and now – pow – plan on stopping all household projects, pack away all that might get in the way and move to an unknown apartment for probably four  weeks.
The only lemonade I can make out of these lemons:  My visitors can help their ancient decrepit sister move. 
M-Day.  Moving day.  Boxes are stacked and bathroom has been cleared.  Early on Monday morning, I head for the office to ask for new apartment number.  I sit in chair at the desk of assistant manager.  She says:  “There has been a postponement until we move you.  The plumbers haven’t finished up on another project yet.” 

There was only one avenue open.  There was only one thing that a red-blooded old lady could do.  I did it.  I began bawling.  These weren’t lady-like tears rolling gently down silken cheeks.  My howls of anguish were heard around the lobby.  An old lady had been jabbed one too many times and there was no way to protest quietly.  The world was out to get me. 
Sorry, Daddy, I was full of self-pity and I let the world know about it. 
My sister came to the rescue.  She entered the front door just as I let out my first howl, handed me tissues to wipe my nose and gently removed me from the office to outdoors.  Ah, sunshine, I need you.  We walked, me still sobbing, only now more gently.
Gradually I came to realize the futility of my outburst.  As we covered the blocks, I talked some sense into my head and the tears disappeared.
I wanted to talk to Ed, my sweetheart, my sturdy bear, my love.  Only he wasn’t here.  He was sitting someplace up on a cloud, and laughing, saying “Aren’t you glad I missed this.” 
Yes, my special sweetie pie, you wouldn’t have been able to live in this upset world that has been handed to me and I am glad you left before these ridiculous weeks take place.
Packed boxes remain waiting to trip me, waiting to find out where and when they are going someplace.  I am backing away from the greatest sin of all – feeling sorry for myself – and will write my stories and exercise and try not to overeat in compensation.
Stay tuned for my Living in Hud Apartment Adventures.  There will be more.  I will try not to be too painful about it.
Daddy was right.  Feeling sorry for yourself isn’t the answer. 

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Selfie and Sunny

The Adventures of an Old Lady

Next Chapter:  The Worst Sin 

or Why my father would be ashamed of me.

Sign up is over to the right 

if you are not yet on this e-mail list.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

MY LOVE STORY - Ed and Mariam

It has been a long 2 years, 1 month, 3 weeks, 3 days and 5 hours, it has been a short 2 years, 1 month, 3 weeks, 3 days and 5 hours since the up and down road began.

Christmas 2011.  My sweetheart had to give up his “yob.”   He considered washing dishes to be his part of the kitchen work and he handled the cleaning with more efficiency and joy than I ever did.   On Christmas Day his feet would no longer hold him.

With his power chair, and he took pride in turning it in an almost staying in the spot swivel, we still went to the in-house lunchroom.  For a while.  Gradually the getting ready, dressed with the neatness that he required, took its toll and we applied for home delivered meals.

He no longer left the apartment, only once in over a year, for a flu shot.  He joined the society of Hospice, another story of great people. We had our Activities, our Events.  Ballgames made the number one hit list.  With DVR we taped Nova, the History, Travel and this turned into a good life for us.

Breathing became more difficult and gradually his mode of travel was our steno chair from bed to living-room Lazy Boy.  Then the day came when he could not lift himself to the bedside commode.  The urinal waited for such a day and Ed fought it.  “Let me get up,” came in angry tones.  “Please, you can’t, you’ll fall.”  Fall he did, a tangle of tubing, legs and potty chair.  I made calls to our wonderful Fire Department and Hospice with lots of help coming quickly.

The next couple of days turned out to be an experiment in finding out what I could do and what I couldn’t do.  Despite his pleas, I continued to explain “Sweet man, I can not lift you.”  His anger said, “Then I will do it by myself.” 

His talking became one word that I had to decipher.  Two exceptions, both at his side after a short nap. 

“Don’t take me too soon” and “Give me an hour.”

By Tuesday morning,  I knew that I had to have help.  I called son Fred and made arrangements for Fred and my special daughter-in-law Magaly, to come.  I called Cornerstone Hospice and made arrangement for our wonderful Service Coordinator Theresa to come.   

Theresa put her skills to work and found a very good nursing home with an available bed.  Hospice would take care of all expense for a few days then he would go for long term care, using as much money as Ed had, then to a different plan.

All settled.  The transport would pick Ed and Mariam up between seven and eight in the evening, Fred and Magaly would meet us there to take me back to their home.

I got all necessary to take with me for both Ed and Mariam.  I put on clean clothes wearing Ed’s favorite blouse.  We had an hour left.  I laid on the bed with our heads together, our arms together, our hands together.  Ed’s words were mumblings and I could not understand.  Our bond was still strong, I knew what he was saying.  I talked some and we played hand teasing games some and I rubbed his neck some.  We were home on our bed with each other.  For this moment, we wanted nothing more.

Mix-up came about on the transportation.  The man showed up with a wheelchair instead of a gurney.  I took him in to Ed’s bed and explained that a gurney would be necessary.  Ed acknowledged the man’s greeting, appeared to be aware of what was going on.

A little more confusion and I had to call the Fire Department in order to move Ed downstairs.  As the firemen were coming down the hall I went back into the bedroom.  Ed had just left.

My sweet man had fooled us all.  He planned on dying at home and his timing was perfect. 

I know and my sister Nancy knows that my brother-in-law John waited for Ed.  They had the same delightful low key humor and now together they enjoy the trick that Ed had pulled.  He wasn’t going to a nursing home, he wasn’t going to spend his hard-saved dollars on what he considered unnecessary care.  He had used his last hour in the kind of happiness he wanted.

One last blessing.  After all the necessary people and equipment had left, I went out on the porch to talk to God.  There have been many such talks in the years since we have been in this apartment. 

I said,  “Thank you, God.  Thank you for letting him leave from his home.  Thank you for letting him go with so much peacefulness.  Thank you for answering my pleas.” 

As I stood there, the full moon, the full moon that Ed put up there for me every month, came out from behind the clouds.  I knew that Ed was on his way in peace and carrying my love with him.

This is for you, Ed, my sweetie pie, my sweet man.

Wednesday February 19, 2014 6:00 pm

Saturday, February 15, 2014

You are not alone - Bucket List


#1 - Pierce Ears  - Ears doing fine.  My sweetie pie, after initial dislike for anyone punching holes in me, slept on the idea, then handed me a chunk of money and said “Go for it.”  Now that I am looking at purty sparkly ear rocks, which aren’t cheap, he realizes that he will have an investment in my ears.

#2 – With Encouragement & Information from Christina, Fred and Urssy – I am now enrolled in college once again.  Yes, the Lifelong Learning Institute, for 55 plus, downtown ASU, class will be maybe 3/4’s a mile from my front door, easy walking distance.  The class:  INTRODUCTION TO TRAVEL WRITING, not first choice but the only available with action.  The purpose:  to find a circle with people who have my interests.  Starts March 21, four weeks, an hour and a half on Friday.  I hope to do usual morning routine early, Ed settled comfortably and all should be OK for a couple of hours.

#3 – Bite the bullet and get it over with.  Join with the big kids.  Don’t be such a scairdy cat!  OK, I told the very nice Joel at Consular Cellular – Sign me up.  Goodbye faithful companion land phone.  Hello, nice little cellphone. Well, it may be little but it is the largest that I could find.  A couple of days and I will be asking anyone around of the younger generation – What do I do next.  My phone number will be the same but I do not have unlimited mileage, only (gasp) 500 minutes. 

#4 – Web set-up.  Slow.  Trying to decide which 4 or 5 stories from long ago. 

#5 – Myrt-Ty-Ly-Ky.  Here is her picture.  She still has a lot of writing to do before her book will be ready.

Sigh.  Bucket lists are tough sometimes.


Thursday, February 6, 2014

Bucket List #2 writing class in downtown Phoenix

Bucket List:

 #1 - Pierce Ears

Monday morning – cross Pierce Ears off of Bucket List.  The cute young gal at Clare’s assured me that the age of 86 was not too old to have pierced ears.  So now I twist my little sparkle every hour to keep an active hole in my ear lobe.  It will be 60 days before I can replace sparkle with fancier earrings and already I am looking at brighter and dangles.

My special young granddaughter Tia is suggesting we have matching tattoos next.   Her father and my husband will go thru the roof.

#2 - Class in downtown Phoenix with real live people who write stories and sell them. 

Thursday afternoon – A chilly windy gray day and I almost talk myself into taking a nap instead of walking over to ASU downtown, the home of Walter Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communication, home of 7,000 students, to ask about a writing class and possibly a marketing class for my published book.  The goal is to find some action and discuss, talk, learn with other people about writing and selling books. 

I trudged (yes, trudged by this time) along the little avenue where students sit outside when it is sunny and I ventured into several up-date beautiful buildings, talked to several cute young receptionists, ended up in the School of Writing which is stuck in the basement of the old postoffice.  I learned (unofficially) that enrollment costs about $4500 and there are no writing classes at ASU downtown, the home of Walter Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communication. 

I trudged home and will take my nap after posting this to relieve my aggravation.

I can’t believe there is no place for an old lady to go and find real live people who are writing and/or publishing and/or selling fiction books.

Sigh.  Bucket lists are tough sometimes.

WANTED – SEARCHING – LOOKING FOR real live writing and or marketing class with real live people in downtown Phoeix.  #writingclass #marketingclass #downtownPhoenix #seniorcitizen

Monday, January 20, 2014

K-Log or K-K-K-Katrastophe Log: Changing Horses in Mid-stream

K-Log or K-K-K-Katrastophe Log: Changing Horses in Mid-stream: A middle of the night decision became reality in the daylight. I pondered today and decided:  I am cutting my loses and jumping o...

Changing Horses in Mid-stream

A middle of the night decision

became reality in the daylight.

I pondered today and decided:  I am cutting my loses and jumping off of a horse in midstream.

Goodbye Blogging, it’s been a fun love affair but you are not giving back to me as much as I am giving to you.

Another love has appeared.  Myrt-Ty-Ky-Ly, the fierce dragoness, kept putting her soft snout in my hand, and soon she became part of my dreaming hours.  Soon she became so familiar to me that I would have recognized her in a herd of dragons.  Oh my goodness, Myrt-Ty-Ky-Ly is me, we have fought the same battles, given away our heart in a like manner, have the same wounds and rewards. 

Dragons were around for a purpose.  The pale humans needed challenges in order to toughen them up.  My tribe of dragon did its job and then disappeared.  Or did they?

Myrt-Ty tells me in soft bits of flame that the time has come to recognize and concentrate on one priority – her battles, her loves.

I thus disappear from Blogging, from Google Plus, from Circle, from Twitter.  Nobody paid any attention to me anyway.  I had a very few encouragements (you know who you are and thank you so very much).  But for the most part I was swept away, unseen, by the flow of words that ignored me. 

A kind friend gave me a website.

I am hoping to find someone to put my Blogs ( Kindly-Kross-roads, 
Dreams, Druthers and Dragons  ) and a few long-ago published stories in a neat format on this webpage TASWOS.

My writing is good, I feel that it should not be buried.  My book is good (the alternate safe World of Sanctuary  ), available on Kindle, Amazon and bookstores, and I will not abandon Evangeline and TASWOS either, only postpone.

The midnight hour is here and if anyone misses me - I am heading off to assure Myrt-Ty that we are cutting the distractions, we will start filling the pages.  Adios, Aloha, Farewell for now.  Mariam 

Sunday, January 12, 2014