Chew on Change!

Sorry I’ve been slacking. I’ve been working on my novel.

This first poem is an Ode, which is a poem praising a person, place of thing. 

 

Ode to Chewing Gum

Privacy lost many days a week

sitting, suffering with different folks,

makes daily life seem so bleak,

we tend to wonder if it’s a hoax.

What can we say about little space

that revokes such good behavior,

while someone tries to put on their face,

and others recite verse to their savior.

Stench that rises from when they speak

leaves plenty to the imagination,

stuck in a cloud that makes us weak,

wishing away from civilization.

Only way to survive poisonous bouquet

search hard for a pack of chewing gum,

before it’s too late and we portray

the insufferable complaints of a bum.

A fresh piece of gum, we sniff its packaging

offer it out of kindness and care,

hope they can’t see what’s happening

and chuck it up that you like to share.

The chewing gum is a survival tool

for anyone taking public transportation,

important to keep with you as a rule,

so you can go on with your respiration.

This is an unrhymed poem called Sedoka. It is made up of two three-line katauta with a count of 5/7/7.

Change

Change of scenery,

inevitable in life,

risk near or far from safety.

Appetite to move

leave behind the daily rut,

make dreams a reality.

Gum and Change,

Bea

A Tale of Two Sisters

My sister and I are 4-1/2 years apart—two very different women, yet two very similar hearts. When we were young, I looked up to my sister and wanted to be just like her. In the 70’s, she had long straight hair, wore the normal 70’s attire (our favorite being the Angel sleeve blouse), and smoked. I know what you’re thinking, smoking isn’t cool. But it was…back then it was cool. Because we had one car in the family, my sister bought her own car when she got her license, a Ford Pinto, and it skyrocketed her coolness.

As time went on my admiration toward her faded and life seemed to be all about me. I was caught up in the moment of high school, partying, and going out. Our relationship went into hibernation while I tried to keep up with adolescence and my sister concentrated on a career. She finally decided to become a bloodsucker—Phlebotomist. This opened up many other opportunities for her. Even though she moved out of the house, we still found moments to fight…but we are sisters…and that’s what some sisters do. 

As different as my sister and I are, we still always have an emotional connection and understanding. We don’t always agree, and fight hard about our decisions, but I would go to the ends of the earth to protect my sister, and I know she would do the same.

Now our lives are going in different directions. We are dealing with an abundance of change in a short period of time. Change is good. Change offers new opportunities, but change can also be a lonely companion. My sister and I are still struggling with the death of our mother, who passed in December. Over the past few months we have worked on settling my mom’s estate, dividing up her things, dealing with finances, and putting her condo on the market. Each step has been another good-bye.

Yesterday I wished my sister well as she starts a new life out West. She is looking for a job while she stays with our father with high hopes that it works out and she finds happiness. We cried and she said we will see each other soon. I wonder when since the plan for me is to live overseas for a few years with the same hope—that it works out and I have a life of happiness. These are big changes for both with sadness still looming within us. We lost our mother, and in a different way, I feel like I have lost my sister. Geographically speaking, we will be in opposite directions, and the family life we grew accustom to is gone. The light has been shut off on that part of our lives.

So here begins a tale of two sisters about to embark on tales of two cities. I wish my sister well and I know my mom will guide us both to where we need to be. Good-bye, Sesute. May our travels lead us back together again very soon. 

Sisters and New Beginnings,
Bea

What a Difference a Year Makes

Mother Nature decided to give us a taste of a wintery wonderland, although there are plenty of people out there saying there’s nothing wonderful about it. The Chicago area received anywhere between 5 to 8 inches. I keep looking out the window, my car piled high with snow, hoping the sun will come out and it will all melt away before I have to go out there and clean it up.

The way it snowed yesterday reminded me of how it snowed in November 2010 when we were stranded in Edinburgh, Scotland. Here’s the link to that post, http://bit.ly/ysBOhP (the beauty of blogging—collected memories), and here’s the link about what we DID get to enjoy while in Scotland-http://bit.ly/gOuoCz.  

It’s amazing how much can happen and change in one year. I spent the winter of 2010-2011 in Germany, traveling to wonderful places, and seeing the bigger picture of life. My favorite was sampling the German Christmas markets in different towns. Here’s a glimpse at a few of the Christmas market booths-http://bit.ly/baJBsK. I also got the opportunity to record a German tradition in the town of Hattingen-http://bit.ly/eVvVp8.

In my 2010 Christmas post, http://bit.ly/vYWRaj, I talked about the changes in my life including my mother and I having the best relationship we ever had. Fast forward a year, and my mother is no longer in my life. If only I could have one more conversation with her, I’d tell her all the things I feel in my heart right now.

A little over a year ago, I finished my first revision of my 2008 National Novel Writing Month novel http://bit.ly/bP4ONG. This revision had transformed into many more revisions until it was published in 2011-http://bit.ly/vAZuqw.

I’ve always been one for change—except for this past year. But with bad things in life, good things do come out of it. I’ve learned who is important in my life—who cares for me—who was there for me in my time of need. I ended some friendships and rekindled some great friendships. I've also connected with my cousins, and can’t thank them enough for their support (life is full of surprises). I’m hoping for a happier future—a ‘life uninterrupted’.

How about you? What good and bad changes happened to you this last year?

Changes and hope,

Bea

Friends!

I know my blog has resembled a leaky faucet but I am working on getting back into blogging.

Years…maturity…change…these play a big role in the wonderful world of friendship.

Such words you

speak, paint my heart—

colorful, sublime.

Our friendship stew,

never sharp like a dart,

grateful for its kind.

Variety sits at the table

to draw out humor

I waited so long for.

Several talks of a fable

always knew as rumor,

a late night but wish for more.

My friends, I hold on tight

to such memories of delight,

until we soar high into the white.

The last month has been trying, and I witnessed the preciousness of friendship. My friends were there for me—still here—and I can’t thank them enough for being them.

Today I start blogging on a regular basis, and tribute this day and onward to the wonderful friends I’d never want to say good-bye to. You are the epitome of what a friend is all about. So I thank you for our past, present and a wonderful future. I’m here for you.

Friends, compassion and giggles,

Bea

Once Upon a Time…

A writer friend, Barb sent me a link to a blog post, Scariness in Fictionland by Athol Dickson. These days, I haven’t kept up with information about the writing world, and I definitely don’t bother with articles on ‘how to write’. It’s not that I’m a snob and know everything there is to know about writing, it’s just that I feel writing takes practice—individual practice. If I was completely clueless about how to write a novel, short story or poetry, then I would look for some form of guidance; although it’s only bits and pieces I take and leave the rest of the lecture behind.

Since I’ve been separated from the writing world—submerged in my own work—I hadn’t kept up with what is being said out there. So this blog post by Athol Dickson really opened my eyes to writing and what some authors are saying. As he states on his blog, “I’ve seen dozens of emails from other authors who claim they strongly dislike the first person point of view.” Okay, I see we all have our favorites, certain things we enjoy reading, but for an author to commit to such a hard statement is serious. If authors begin to omit first person POV, if publishing companies put all first person POV’s in the slush pile, then we have wiped out a part of literature that’s been around since language kissed our lips.

Athol points out that this isn’t the impossible. “…the reading public came to prefer the stark and spare Modernist style of literature which had been almost universally forced upon them, not because it’s necessarily better in any way, but simply because it had indeed been so universally forced upon them…Also, it’s a well-known psychological fact that we develop habits mainly because they are more convenient.” We find ourselves becoming habitual and accepting without question. It’s easy to follow the leader—the dictators telling us what we should do, watch, buy, yet it’s, as the cliché goes, ‘killing us softly’.

- Once upon a time, a man by the name of Mark Twain wrote a story “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” using the word 'nigger’ and ‘Injun Joe’.

- Once upon a time, there were these places called book stores, where you could wander the isles and topics to pick your favorites.

The sad thing is that I could probably find at least half of the people I know never read ”The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”, and that their children probably never heard of Mark Twain or even seen his picture…or any of the classics.

I had to write this post because it’s dear to my heart—my manuscript (novel) is in first person POV. It’s fine to like or dislike writing styles and genres, but writers should not be too hasty to make changes to the written word. Writing allows independent thought and creativity, so to stifle this in others would be a grave mistake. 

As much as I want change to occur in life, I also want us to keep and remember values and history that taught us about life and what brought us here. Some might think it’s not a big deal that the classics are changed or aren’t read along with any other book for that matter. Some might think it’s not a big deal that book stores won’t exist—Amazon is convenient. I say it is a big deal. It’s a big deal to starve your mind. It’s a big deal that book stores won’t exist—a place where people can socially meet—to actually have contact with others. These fundamental beauties in life should continue to be cherished. Let’s not live a lifetime and find ourselves saying to younger generations, “Once upon a time…” when it isn’t in an actual book.

Why I Love the Seasons

I wrote the below for Helium in August 2009. The main theme is about change, which is fitting with this time in my life.

A sprinkle of angel dust, a tearful night, kissed by the sun, or a crispy delight, these are the reasons why I love each season. They represent change along with letting me experience a new chapter of the year. I am one who embraces change, so I can anticipate and experience something new. The seasons are not any different. Winter, spring, summer, and autumn are my life’s clocks; as each one changes to the next, my life changes with them.

Winter is a time for hibernation. As I watch the angel dust coat the world, I think about the New Year and lay out my future plans. It is a time for self-evaluation—what I need to change in myself or which path to take. My eyes light up like a child’s with the first snowfall. The smell of snow as it blankets the ground symbolizes to me the end of an old life and the beginning of a new. Winter is a time to discard waste and old habits.

When the tearful days and nights arrive, I watch the blankets come off and smell the anticipated change. Spring motivates me into venturing out and pursuing the things I thought about during winter. When the flowers begin to blossom and the rain starts to slow down, a new me has begun my soul searching. Things come to life in spring, kind of how I feel about myself.

My summer sun-kissed skin is a reminder that I will be turning another year older. The rain washed the dirt away, everything is in bloom, and the outdoors is full of people enjoying the weather. It is a time for people to introduce themselves to old neighbors, try a new sport, have a picnic, or take a walk along the lake. During the summer, people become more social, willing to drive to a new destination and ready to relax and take time off. This season is a break from the prior and future days of work while my face soaks up the warmth of the sun.

To complete the year with its crisp air, autumn blows in preparing me for another winter. It is football and tailgate season. A time to cheer for my favorite football teams while the beer chills and the popcorn pops. On Saturdays and Sundays, you can hear the football whoops drowning out the sound of rustling leaves. Burnt leaves fragrant the air while I drive with my windows rolled down.

I love each season for what it offers me: the beauty of Mother Nature and a change from the last season. With each season, I appreciate the holidays and the way the world celebrates, but most of all, I love knowing I woke to see another season—my life’s ticking hand.